


La Tranquillità Senza Fine (The Endless Tranquillity)

by Alia_Jane



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Rite of Tranquility, Tags May Change, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4070368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alia_Jane/pseuds/Alia_Jane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All that you will be<br/>has already been written<br/>If he truly exists<br/>This god has failed</p>
<p>Every word pronounced<br/>Will be the mirror of your pain<br/>reflecting the blame<br/>Feeding the hate</p>
<p>(Senzafine; Lacuna Coil) </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is the tale of Mariel Allarin; Apostates daughter, bound to the circle where she lost the love of her life to Tranquillity, and her journey to the Inquisition after the rebellions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fortuitous Beginnings?

The sky above Skyhold was leaden, the colour of a bruise. He felt breathless, the air flat in his lungs as he waited for the storm to break. To the West, the tear in the sky still pulsed green; sickly, gangrenous light that in no way illuminated the rapidly dimming day.

Cullen pushed back from his desk angrily, muttering sourly as he placed his hands on his head and squeezed. A distraction; that’s what was required. Anything to stop the memories that crowded behind his eyelids, begging for release. Looking around the loft, he spied a bottle of red, no doubt left there by Dorian earlier in the day; the damn man was a walking bar, always trying to palm off sub par vintages in an attempt to “lighten him up”.

Cullen decided it was just what he needed.

*********

The first clap of thunder had him out of his chair and to his sword without thought. Breath heavy and harsh against the silence of the space, blood roaring in his ears in the aftermath of the nightmare; always the same, why did he think he could stop them with a little wine, as if anything could help him (except her, always her, light in the dark places of the world, light like the sun burning and magnificent but too bright for him, nothing for him, nothing but pain and old wounds laced over mind and body), a useless husk of a man, scared of the shadows thrown on the wall by the lightning outside his window.

Spiralling down, the all too familiar panic rising from his stomach, please, Maker, let no one see him like this, not again, broken and falling, curling into himself behind the desk. He hunched, tightly coiled around his sword, attempting to anchor his reality; he is here, he is needed (not loved, never loved), she requires his service (but not his heart, never his heart) the demands of the Inquisition are more than his lifes worth and he. will. endure.

And somehow, he does, as he has done every night since Kinloch.

**********

A knock at the east door roused him from his uncomfortable position; glancing up, he saw it was still dark outside the slit windows, dawn hours away. Wondering what emergency required his attention, grateful at least he is still dressed and in possession of his sword.

Standing quickly and making his way to the door, he was stopped by Leliana entering; the look on her face stilled the question on his lips, she never came to his tower, much less in the small hours, cowled and quiet.

“We have a visitor, Commander. She demands to speak to you, claims she knows you from Kirkwall. She is refusing to hand in her weapons or submit to questioning.” Lelianas voice was deadly, he knows the only reason the lady in question was still alive was because she had invoked his name as surety.

“Did she give a name? Surely I can’t be expected to remember every Mage or Templar from Kirkwall!”

“She did not,” replied Leliana tartly, “you may have more idea from her description; half elven, blond as the sun with deep blue eyes, carrying weapons the likes of which I have never seen; twin rings, inscribed with runes alternated with the initials M.F. along each leading edge, sharp as knives,”

Cullen swore vehemently “Maker forfend, this is trouble we do not need,”

“...She also travels with a girl child…”

Cullen paled, eyes closing as he groped for the edge of his desk “ahhh...how old did she look to be?”  

“Truly I did not see, the woman kept her behind a cloak all the time I was attempting to question her; at least Cassandra is abed or she would be in the cells by now.” Leliana paused, sending her piercing gaze at the Commander “who is this woman to you Cullen?”

“Take me to her and your questions will be answered My Lady Nightingale.”

  
*******************

Mariel looked suspiciously at the soldiers keeping watch, all were Templars, that much was painfully obvious, they had the fanatical eyes which imparted utter belief for the cause. That the cause was now the Inquisition made no difference. They were still chantry leashed, meddlesome dogs following a master who told them what to do, what to think, what to believe.

The reports on this new organisation and its Inquisitor were mixed, according to the poor folk that she had encountered in the past few months, the Inquisitor was a goddess out of old, half forgotten myths, righting the wrongs of their small lives. To the Orlesians and the few Tevinter that she had passed by, the woman was a menace, a mere elf attempting to usurp the power that was rightfully theirs. To the elves themselves, she was a mystery; a no one from a small clan of little import, someone in the right place at the right time to ascend to power on the backs of the Shems strange beliefs.

To the people of the Inquisition, she was Valaria Lavellan, the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, the Saviour of Thedas. And she belonged to them.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rina gesture slightly to the door; her sharp ears heard the footsteps approaching as she drew the hood of her cloak over her head, obscuring her features in darkness.

Mariel stood to face her new questioner, hoping it was the man she had crossed half of Thedas to see, and that he was not the same man he’d been when last she left him.

The door opened, hard, a low voice ordering the soldiers to remove themselves, and her heart sank. She would get no understanding here, no absolution, no chance to save herself and her precious daughter; the only thing left to her from her past that she cherished, save her love for a man long dead.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, My Lady? As you can see, we are in the middle of a war. I do hope that you did not come all this way to indulge in social niceties with an old friend?” Mariel frowned, the anger beneath his words was wounding, but not surprising given how she had left Kirkwall. Biting back an angry retort that would help nothing, she began to plead her case before him, while the thunder ripped the sky with violence matched by that which she saw in his golden eyes.

“Knight Captain...”

“My title is Commander now. I am no longer associated with the Templars.”

Thank whatever Gods there were she thought, there may be a chance, if he is not under the rule of madness that yet pervades that institution, he may listen.

“Commander, I come to seek sanctuary for myself and my daughter, Rina. Come here child, let the Commander look upon you.”

Rina slowly pushed back her hood, features almost identical to her mothers except the ears more human, the eyes, less slanted but the same shade of blue, with a golden core and hair the colour of fire rather than the honey blond of Mariel.

“This is Naurina. I wish to enlist with your Inquisition, to keep her safe, if anywhere can be considered safe in these times. You know my skills, Commander. I believe I could be of assistance in your endeavours against this Corypheus.” Head held high, she addressed the shadowy form of Leliana as she perched in the corner “I think you wanted to know more about my weapons, Lady Nightingale. Please, allow me to demonstrate.”

Mariel dropped each hand to her hips, arms crossing as she plucked each disc from holsters hanging from an ornately decorated belt, earning a start from Cullen.

“Relax Commander, I know what I’m doing now,” bringing the weapons up into the light, Cullen saw that her grip was sure, holding on to the safe edge of the blades, away from the deadly shearing edges with their wicked runes and branching engravings. He slowly relaxed, intrigued now despite himself. The last time he’d seen the weapons in her hands, it had been for her to lose a finger. Part of him wanted it to happen again if he was being totally honest.

“These are Chakrams. Based on ancient Tevinter design, I know of no other pairs in use in the whole of Thedas. Almost as deadly to the wielder as the target, until you get the hang of them at least, it’s lucky I can cast some healing or I’d be no use at all!”

“What are the runes? I’ve never seen such designs before!” Lelianas eyes were lit up in the firelight, she loved rare and beautiful weapons; her travels with Daylen Amell had taught her much about magical warfare, but she had never even heard of anything like this.

Mariel began to describe each rune; “Naur, for fire, Gordel, for horror, Sereg Carca, to induce bleeding, Fuin, to induce blindness and finally, Nimlach, for lightning.” That said, the room lit up as a sheet of lightning tore across the heavens. Cullen frantically reached for his sword and found himself looking into Rinas eyes, locked onto his hands in terror as he forced himself to relax his grip. Maker, they were her eyes, he couldn’t bear seeing the similarities, to see them so fearful, so fearful because of him.

“Ladies, do excuse me, I think I should call it a night.” Not that he would sleep, not with those eyes haunting him until the dawn took over the sky, not when he would have to face those eyes over the war table, silently measuring him with her inner light…

“Commander? Commander!” Mariel touched his arm and he jumped, did he just slip out of the room? Maker not now, not here with her, he needed his wits about him.

“Welcome to the Inquisition Mariel Allerin. I will present your case to the Inquisitor come morning. She will judge if you are worthy of protection, despite your history. Do not doubt that I will impart everything of importance.”

With that said, he turned on his heel, and marched out of the door.

*****************

They were shown to a tent in the bailey, barely big enough for one, but it was better than sleeping under the sky as they had been forced to on more than one occasion, with only a barrier against the elements.

“Mamae, is he my father?” Rina didn’t know if she wanted to know the answer. Her mother never spoke of her father, all she knew is that he was resident in the Kirkwall Circle before Mariel fled for her life when she discovered her pregnancy.

“Creators no girl! Cullen would never love a mage like me sweetling, he’s templar to the core. Your father was a mage, one of the best I’ve ever known.” Mariels face fell as she thought of him, dead now in truth as he’d been in the last years of his life, victim of her failure, victim of her love. Rinas small hands stroked her hair “Mamae?”

“Old memories, sweetling, nothing more. Now, it’s time to sleep. I have a feeling we’ll be required to meet the Inquisitor come the day.”

“What did the Commander mean? Despite your ‘history’?” the girls eyes held far more intelligence than her eight years should warrant, she knew this distressed her mother yet she persisted. She didn’t quite believe that her mother and Cullen were innocent in that regard, the sparks of the dreams she observed in the fade told her much of her surroundings, and the people that she was physically close to. Cullen she had seen before in her mothers mind, never with connotations of love, just desire, and fear. She had never observed her father through that medium. It was like Mariel had blocked him away when she ran from Kirkwall. Only occasionally would Rina dream the feeling of love for any but her, bittersweet and desperate, trailing around a name, but not a face.

“Mamae, who’s Maddox?”


	2. Debrifings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul  
> That love never lasts.  
> And we've got to find other ways to make it alone.  
> Or keep a straight face.
> 
> And I've always lived like this  
> Keeping a comfortable distance.  
> And up until now I have sworn to myself  
> That I'm content with loneliness.
> 
> Because none of it was ever worth the risk.
> 
> The Only Exception: Paramore

********************

Morning light peeked through the flaps of the tent, bringing with it sounds and smells from the bustling hold. Soldiers were already holding drills, swords and shields striking under the rising sun. Rina was flat out against the pillow, face contorted in dreams, but she was peaceful for which Mariel was eternally grateful. Of all fates, a demon finding her was her greatest fear. Rinas nighttime wanderings were not as violent as they had been but a season ago, she seemed to be gaining confidence in her journeys, making more and more independently, seeking answers to questions no one living could now answer.

Another reason she had chosen Skyhold for sanctuary, despite the dangers of the former Knight Captain. She had heard tell that there was an Apostate elf here, a  dreamer close to the Inquisitor, he must know how to help Rina train without subjecting her to a Harrowing. Marshalling her thoughts, she prepared to greet the day; meditating to create the well of mana she would require, flexing each muscle and feeling each nerve tip in an endless web of potential. Rina awoke and watched her mothers exercises, grateful her calling was more intellectual; she had learned the basics of what her mother practiced but her potential was tied to her dreams and the truths and lies she could spy through observation rather than martial magic.

Quietly, she dressed and went to find food. She knew Mariel was aware of her departure, just as she would be aware of every life form within the sphere of her influence. She was in deep, and would be hungry when she emerged from the trance.

*******************

Cullen observed the child from the battlements where he was breaking his fast. She was quick, and silent. No one seemed to look at her for more than a few seconds. Her hood covered the flame of her hair except when she looked up to get her bearings. Spying him on the wall, she ran lightly up the nearest stairs.

“Good morning Commander. Could I trouble you for the location of the kitchens? Mother is in her trance and will be hungry when she awakes.”

“Maker, she still does that?” Cullen thought back to the many mornings he had been roused by desperate recruits, convinced she was dead, unmoved by the dawn bell, only to find her combat ready in her nightrobes when he was dragged, protesting, to the Enchanters chambers.

“Every morning Commander. It keeps her strong. It has kept us alive. The land is cruel for two apostates such as ourselves.”

Cullen flushed and turned away, disconcerted by the small girl. He couldn’t tell her age, and it bothered him more than he could say.

“It’s ok, you’re not my father, Commander Cullen, I asked last night.” With that, Rina spied a kitchen girl trailing up the stairs in the distance, with a basket of bread on her head, and launched herself off the stairs without a backward glance at the flustered, and somewhat relieved, face of the Commander.

******************

The sky was clear, washed clean by the previous nights rain and the smells of the garden rose on the morning air. She stood on her balcony and smelt the elfroot flowering, and the loam of the fresh earth as the sun climbed higher. Breathing deeply, she was reminded of past times, where the only responsibility higher than hunting was to her own self.  Now, thousands looked to her for leadership, for good or ill her decisions would shape the face of Thedas for generations; if they could avoid the death Corypheus wished upon them all.

Soft footfalls sounded on the stairs, she whirled, not having heard a knock her hand flew to the stiletto always at her thigh as she took a defensive stance...only to straighten with a snort as Cole meekly looked at her

“I knocked!” he cried, brows knitted “oh, wait, I thought; knock! That doesn’t work now does it?”

“No Cole, it doesn’t” she sighed, re sheathing the dagger. “What can I do for you, except have a heart storm from the surprise?”

“There’s someone here, someone new, someones new! They need to see you. Can I watch from the shadows in the rafters?” Coles transformation might have made it more difficult for him to read people, but his stealth was still unrivaled by any in Skyhold, except perhaps Leliana.

“Sure thing kid, when am I meeting them?”

“Cullen needs to see you first, to debrief you…”

Valaria had a sudden mental image of the Commander doing just that, on the War Table of all places. It made her a little ashamed of how often her thoughts would stray, especially in front of Cole who missed little of what was in her mind.

“I’ll be in the War Room. If you see the Commander, please send him on in.”

She made her way purposefully towards the stairs, hoping Cole was still too excited about the new arrivals to peer into her thoughts…

“Inquisitor! That won’t help you understand the new dreamer!”

Damn it, Cole always had the last say in everything she thought as she exited her chambers.

****************

Valaria had only been at the table for ten minutes, appraising the status of the forces at her command, when the opening door alerted her to the Commanders entrance.

Creators but the man was beautiful, more attractive than any of her kind who tended to be lithe and slim. Cullen was a giant of a man; if they stood side by side, she only came up to his chest. Not that she had ever had the chance to see it with the fade damned armour encasing him at all times, she had a suspicion he slept in the damn thing. It seemed life was unfair, all the pressure on her had no outlet, no release, was it so wrong to want a Shemlen?

A small cough brought her back to reality; the Commander was impatient to begin.

“I have had news from Cole of these new arrivals Commander, is it true one is a dreamer?” Dreamers were rare, everyone knew that, mostly they seemed to be restricted to mages who were elven, or were of mixed blood.

“I know not of the daughter, Inquisitor, but Mariel Allarin is no dreamer. Not in that sense at least.” Cullen paused, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to place his words in order. “She, ah, presents a rather unique skill set for use by the Inquisition. She is however dangerous, and has difficulty following orders if she believes them to be contrary to her own course.”

“We are all dangerous in our own ways Commander. Why is she here? What is her history?” Leliana melted from the shadows by the door “Do you trust her? That is what we need to know. You obviously know a lot about her, I could see that from your reactions last night”

Cullen threw a annoyed glance at the spymaster, damned woman! He’d hoped he would have been able to speak to the Inquisitor alone, and briefly, in order to put the decision in her hands. Now, Leliana would insist on every fact and rumour he could recall.

“It is a long tale, Inquisitor. Perhaps we should sit.”

 

****************************

Kirkwall, 10 years earlier

****************************

Kirkwall stank. It always stank. At low tide, it smelt like rotten fish and mud, at high tide, of shit, as the cities drains were emptied into the bay. The Gallows stood right in the midst of the teeming cesspool, shut up and locked tight, the mages and their Templar warders unable to escape the stench of too many people living on top of one another.

Mariel hated this place. Would always have hated it, even if she was free, even if she wasn’t locked away for the crime of magic, for the crime of her parents loving her enough to hide her from the Templars. She thought then of her parents. It both saddened and gratified her that they had not lived to see this come to pass.

_ Her mother, shining in the moonlight as the templars came, swords flashing under the stars, already red with the blood of her father. She was fourteen, sold out by the neighbour when they caught her healing a goat. A goat of all things, that had caused this to come to be. _

_Ice flew from fingers, lightning flashed from the clear sky to land amongst them. A few were mown down, but not enough, too many came, it told her that the townsfolk had been suspicious of her family, they wouldn’t have sent this many for just one mage…_

_ “Mariel! Run! I will hold them!” _

_ “Mamae! No!” _

_ “RUN CHILD!” Tarahel screamed at her, as an arrow sprouted from her shoulder, blood blossoming on the simple cloth of her sky blue tunic. A bolt of lightning erupted at her feet, a warning, a gift. _

_ So she ran. She ran until her lungs burned, and her legs trembled with the demands she placed upon them. But it was too late. The templars were mounted, several had hung back, knowing someone would run. They were used to this. It was nothing new. _

_ A blow on the back made her fall to the hard ground, eliminating what little wind she had left. Turning over she began to incant, power rolling around her mouth, all restraint gone now as she prepared to fight for her life… _

_ “Now now, little bitch, none of that!” She was hit with a silence so strong she could barely breathe, let alone let loose the horror she had been attempting. It came back at her in force, as she saw the remains of her mother and father being slung in the back of a cart; it remained as she was bound and gagged, and thrown on the same cart; it remained when her guard placed a heavy hand on her leg in the darkness. _

_ ************************* _

Shaking her head to clear the thoughts, she practiced her mothers gifts to her; the meditations and muscle/nerve stimulation that helped her survive this place. They had nearly killed her when the other templars had seen what she had done to her guard; only the command of their superior had restrained them from causing fatal damage. Even so, she had been delivered to the Gallows unable to walk, and had spent months in recovery before being able to begin her forced education. And blessed Mythal, that particular Templar had never needed to frequent the whore houses of low town again, and the apprentices no longer lived in fear of his pursuits.

“Woolgathering, Mariel?” she had sensed his presence, a light here in the darkness that was all around. Her love, her soul, the only reason she had not yet gone mad in this place. She glanced around, making sure they were unobserved, it would not do to have anyone see how her eyes softened, how her lips curved gently at the sight of him, or how he stepped close to inhale the scent of her hair…

“You kept me waiting Maddox, I was practicing, to pass the time,” she brought her hand up then, stroking up his arm until her fingers twined in his hair, the colour of copper shining in the sunlight as she leaned closer,

“Not here, there was a squad behind me, quickly now, follow me,” he stepped away, leading her towards the courtyard proper and through to the training rooms. “Orsino is holding a meeting, most of the mages are there, so are many of the Templars,” he said as he paused at a door, “in here.”

The room was small, and dark, and smelled of embrium. “A storeroom Maddox? You do know how to show a lady a good time,” she quipped

His voice roughened, “oh I intend to, My Lady.” She could feel the smirk on his lips in the darkness, and her breath hitched as she felt him move closer, predatory now, hands capturing hers as he pushed her against the wall.

A moan escaped her as his lips found hers, tongues meeting, her hands working furiously at his buckles

“Mar, slow down, we’ve got time for once,” she was gratified to hear his breath was as unsteady as hers, it had been too long since they had been alone, too long since she had pressed against his body in passion, too long since they had been joined as one.

Maddox slowly stroked his hands down her body, gently cupping her breasts, fuller than her elven heritage would suggest, already escaping the loose robes she had worn for this purpose. Her nipples tightened in anticipation, needing his touch so badly she could feel the tug at her core, naked thighs slipping together as she squeezed. Warm breath ghosted down her neck, peppered kisses on her flesh until his mouth enveloped her, hardening as she arched, pleasure sparking to her clit as she brushed against him, already hard for her, all for her. A soft grunt rose in the darkness as she stroked him through his robe. She could tell he had nothing on under it, naked skin begging to be caressed.

Mariel dropped to her knees, looking up she began to push his robes higher, fingers trailing up the soft skin of his thighs, softly grazing his balls, hearing the intake of breath as she leaned forward to take him in her mouth. He grabbed the robes out of her hands, tearing them over his head as he looked down to see her with his cock in hand and mouth in the dim light, her free hand delving between her thighs as she began to moan around him. Head falling back he held himself steady, even as she sped up and it was all he could do not to thrust, Maker it was too good, her tongue was driving him wild, he wanted to be inside her, needed it more than anything. His world narrowed to the feeling of her lips, her tongue, her heady moans as she took him deeper. Suddenly he lifted her up onto a cupboard and pushed up her skirts, his long fingers brushing against her clit, dipping into her warm, wet folds as his mouth descended on her nipples again, biting softly, then harder as her body arched under him, rising to present her to his dedicated ministrations.

“please, please, I need you, want you, in me, now,” she panted, eyes falling closed as he brushed her pearl in tiny circles, “now Maddox, I need your cock now!”

He obliged, filling her to the brim in one stroke as she cried out before encircling his hips with her legs in an attempt to bring him deeper. She could feel every inch of him as he began to move, could feel how he was holding back for her, how desperate he was to fuck her without restraint. There was a tension in him, as he took her deeper, grinding against her as she moaned, breath coming fast and hard as she moved with him, building her pleasure as he clung to her, desperate to ground himself.

“Touch yourself, I want to see you come for me, Mar” he lifted her legs, holding onto her ankles as she spread wider for him, as her fingers dropped and began to roll her nipples, her clit, as he hit her centre over and over. He watched her writhe under him, back arching, head falling back, Maker it was a beautiful sight, her little whimpers and moans were gaining in volume as she rose to a frenzy, he increased his pace as he saw her fingers fly, crying his name as she tightened, eyes rolled back as fragments of elvish fell from her lips and her world turned to a blaze of fire.

“garas, ma lath, garas, him nehn” his rhythm broke with a shout, hips stuttering as he came, hard, his fingers sure to leave marks, but she didn’t care, this was all that mattered, this feeling between them, sated for now, a beast that woke her in the night with need for this man, this man who had become everything to her.

Slowly, thought returned, and she became aware of her surroundings enough to hear footsteps...

“Quick! Your robes!” she hissed, throwing them to him and moving to hide behind the door. The room smelt of sex, she hoped it was not a tranquil come to get stores, they would report as a matter of course, in case anything had been damaged…

The door opened; the face beyond hidden by the sudden onset of light.

“Get out of here, you little fools, before someone else comes along!” voice harsh as his face, Samson stood in the corridor, glancing to either side “I could hear you all the way down the hall!”

A last embrace, and they parted, her to the library, him to the chantry. Samson rubbed his face in weariness, he shouldn’t have got involved, moonstruck children was what they were, and nothing good would come of it.

 

**********

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut smutty smut smut smut :)  
> more smut in the next chapter, but oh, the angst, I think you know what happens next...
> 
> garas, ma lath, garas, him nehn; come, my love, come, become joy 
> 
> coz elfish has no good sex words


	3. Call of the Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted freedom  
> Bound and restricted  
> I tried to give you up  
> But I'm addicted
> 
> Now that you know I'm trapped sense of elation  
> You'd never dream of  
> Breaking this fixation
> 
> You will squeeze the life out of me
> 
> Time is running out; Muse

***********************

Time passed in strange patterns, fits and starts, slowing to a crawl, only to speed by faster than the heartbeats that carried them through their passions. Unexpectedly, Samson proved a true friend, gruff but honourable. He would often pass details of the guard rotations to the pair, watched out for rumours, he even passed notes between them when their studies kept them apart, though the risk was horrendous; already, there were some among his fellows that watched, waiting for any evidence of impropriety.

The truth of his delicate position hit home when he was cornered by Cullen, a recent transfer from some backwater tower in Fereldan, who had been assigned as his mentee upon arrival. The whispers that followed him were the stuff of nightmares, but the man had proven himself capable; he had rapidly moved up the ranks of the Gallows, his views in almost perfect accord with the Knight Commander. Samson hoped that most of what was said was untrue, but had never been able to ask him outright.

“You are too often with the mages. You should not become close to them.” His voice was quiet, but condemning. “She is here for a reason; she is a weapon.”

“Maker Cullen...she’s just a girl, only passed her harrowing six moons ago! She’s had a rough time of it here…” Samson trailed off, looking at the younger man, eyes hard, legs jittering against the cot as they awaited their fix of blue. He wondered what he saw as the lyrium claimed him, what hurts he hid in its forgetfulness.

“Do you know how she was brought to this Circle, Cullen?”

“No. And I do not wish to know. I do not converse with our charges unnecessarily.” Cullen sniffed “They are where the Maker willed them to be.”

“You do not converse with our charges at all, lad. Giving an order is not conversing. Maybe you should try it sometime, they are people, just like you and me…”

Cullen lept up, pacing, hands balled to fists “They are nothing like me! Abominations of nature, a threat to our…”

“Andrastes tits man, listen to yourself! Sit down and listen.” Samson pushed him back to the bed.

“We have nothing to do here except guard the mages. They are people. People who have seen horrendous things for the most part, people who have been denied liberty for their own and others safety. We owe it to them to understand, to prevent them becoming the very monsters you believe them to be!”

“You could be expelled for such talk, do not try to shake my convictions! Say no more, I will not listen!” Cullen turned his face to the wall, desperately trying to block out the voices that whispered Samson was right, that what they did was an affront to the Maker, that what he did broke hearts and minds until nothing was left but a shell.

“You may not listen, but my words carry their own power, stronger than any spell, for they are truth.”

Samson took a breath, and addressed the shaking back in front of him. Silently he asked for forgiveness, Mariel had told him her story in confidence, one night alone in the Chantry, where she often walked when the dreams became too much. Not from any belief in the Maker, but because it was usually quiet, a safe space where most of the Templars would not profane with violence of voice or deed.

“Mariel was captured at fourteen, by Ser Alrik and his squad. Ten strong team, for a fourteen year old girl. Of course, her parents were both apostates, mother a Dalish Elf who’d been captured by slavers, father a laetan out of Vol Dorma. They ran away from the Imperium before their affair was discovered, and lived as outcasts for years, never settling in one place for too long, lest the people discovered the truth.

When she was ten, they settled in the Marches, in a small village in the lea of the Vimarks. Mariel was a goat herd for the whole village, taking her charges up to the high pasture to graze. One day, in Solace, a snake bit one of her goats. So she healed it, lest the neighbours blame her for the death. Better for it to have died in the end, as she was seen, spied by the very people she was trying to help. They sold the family's location to the Templars in the nearest Chantry, people who they had broken bread with, had helped raise their crops and families, who had shared their lives for four years.

Do you have any wonder they hate us so? No? Do you have no answer for me yet? “

Cullens form had stilled, he was listening alright, despite himself, but he still needed more. If he was ever to escape the fate awaiting them, he needed to break out of his hate, his fear.

“Her father fell first. He tried to stop our brothers with his bare hands and paid the price. He was a healer, no weapons, no offensive capability at all. His last act was to place a barrier on his wife and daughter, before he was cut from groin to chin. He could have been restrained. Could have been stunned. Instead he was cut to shreds before his loved ones. Her mother, skilled as she was, was no match for the numbers she faced. She was cut down by arrows, as Mariel attempted to flee. Then she was taken, locked by silence, and thrown on the bodies of her parents.”

“They should not have fought. They should have all submitted to Chantry law, and come willingly to the Circle.” Cullens voice was steady, seemingly unmoved.

“Willingly? What do you think we do here boy? Why do you think there are mages out there that would prefer death to life in a Circle? Why do you think they run, again, and again, risking tranquility and death each time?” Samsons voice was bitter, he remembered the flat, dead, tone she had used when she described her ordeal, a voice that had sounded like a tranquil, if you ignored the horror in her eyes.

“Do you know Ser Rogir?”

“The eunuch? I am not sure I understand the relevance…though I have heard the stories of his...pursuits…” Cullen sounded a little sick at that, he was glad the man was no longer able to follow his proclivities.

“He was Mariels guard, the night she was brought in. We each make our own abominations lad. Remember that.”

A tranquil came then, bearing vials of blue on his tray.

“Messers”

Cullen lept for his dose, fingers fumbling with the apparatus of his leash, swearing as he almost dropped the delicate vial. Samson took his time, no less needy, but seeing the other mans fervour he had to bite back the bile at the uses his life had been put to, what he knew he would do for the blue, so innocent, so good until you saw the steel in the velvet around your neck. Most of his brothers and sisters were like Cullen, never questioning, never hesitating, never noticing the noose until they choked on it.

But he could not live without it.

He sighed as he depressed the plunger, letting his body float away on the tide…

Settled now, Cullen lay back on his cot, listening to the olders mans breathing, slow now, drifting in the blue. He wished he hadn’t learnt of Mariels history, his eyes had been drawn to her too much already, he feared the sympathy her sad story had engendered, feared that he would become corrupted by his base desires.

Dreams slowly began to unfold, enveloping him with colour, and sound. Faces and forms flittered through his mind, too fast for recognition. Half caught conversations filled his ears but he could make no sense of them, he had no direction, no purpose here. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daylan, turning, he saw his form mutate into a pride demon, bearing down on him with a crown of lightning. Behind the demon, whirling bodies coalesced into his usual nightmare, his family, his colleagues, burning, melting under Uldreds claws as the pride demon cut him with lightning whips again, and again, until he could stand no more, until Mariel stood before him, horns pushing from her head as she laughed…

The power of the blue kept him under, unable to wake, forced his body to take respite despite the sweating tremors seizing his form. It also caused him to forget it all come morning.

**********

Samson became more concerned for the mages under his care. Whispered rumours spread like poison amongst all the residents of the tower; mages disappearing, templars falling to temptation, an abomination amid the enchanters; the list went on and on, and Merediths answer was simply to tighten her grip, providing ‘demonstrations’ to cow the mages under her jurisdiction.

And then, the unthinkable. A young mage, still in her teens, was caught trying to smuggle a letter out to her family, via one of the shoppers that frequented the Formari marketplace.

The Knight Commander ordered an immediate curfew, restricting the mages to their chambers and the dining hall for a full week. Then , with vindictive pleasure, she called a gathering, to judge the girl.

The brands were already set upon the high table on the dias. The mages were speechless, eyes wide as they took in the sight before them. Even some of the templars blanched, this was no trial. Orsino argued for leniency, but the Knight Commander paid no heed to his protests.

“Disobedience to our laws is akin to disobedience to the Maker. We Serve a higher purpose. Magic exists to Serve. Therefore, you will serve.”

The Sunburst bloomed red as blood, screams echoing around the silent hall as Cullen held her fast, until the branding was complete. The mana dissipated through the room, gradually absorbed by the others, the girls last gift, from her dying mind.

Later, Samson observed her thanking Meredith for removing the distraction of her family from her. He was almost sick.

********

“No Maddox,” he hissed “it’s too dangerous!”

“Just one more, please, I’ve not seen her for a month!” Samson rolled his eyes; young love, he thought, it leashes as much as the lyrium.

“Give it here then, but his is the last time, I swear.”

Maddox pressed the letter into his hand with whispered thanks, before hurrying away. He slipped the paper into his tunic as he tried to think where Mariel was scheduled to be today; probably the library, she’d had ink all over her robe whenever he’d seen her over the past week. Probably had her copying out the canticles again.

“Rayleigh Samson” his heart stopped. He knew that voice well, mild now but no less forceful for it. All he could hope for now that was Maddox had kept it simple, no seditions, no names.

“Turn out your pockets.”

*********

Her life was over. Samson, already stripped of his rank and shield, kicked out on the streets with nothing but the clothes on his back. Her love, already under lock and key. How stupid had she been? To trust a templar, to risk so much for love, they should have ended it, they should have run. Her mind ran in circles as she waited for them to come for her.

The long expected knock nonetheless made her jump, heart hammering. She made no move to open the door. Mage quarters had no locks, no way to keep the jailers out.

Composing herself, she bade them enter, blinking in surprise as First Enchanter Orsino, and Carver Hawke passed the threshold of her chamber.

“Come now, we have very little time.”

Orsino was a kindly man, but all the more ineffectual for that. His failure to protect Kiara had taken it’s toll, he couldn’t help her, like he had failed to help all the rest of them when they cowered under Merediths lash.

“Meredith is down in the city, she will not return until morning.”

Hope bloomed in her breast, to be strangled by fear. Did he really mean to help her?

“Where are we going?”

“To the cells. Don’t worry!” his voice low as he felt her stiffen “I’ll explain on the way.”

Flinging a cloak at her, for the night was cold, he explained, in short bursts, what he intended as they navigated the empty corridors. Most of the mages kept to quarters, the memories of Kiaras punishment having the desired effect, so they met not a soul.

“You can see him, Carver will relieve the guard. You will have exactly three hours before you need to be back in your chambers. The room is warded, and guards stand below in the courtyard.”

“She doesn’t know of our involvement yet then, or I would be next to him already.”

Mariel was wondering what this was about, how this could be turned to their salvation, and kept coming up against a wall.

“Not yet, no. She’s waiting until after the ceremony. Why waste time on interrogation when the tranquil cannot lie?”

She came to a stop, chest heaving, “she means to turn him tranquil over a few love letters? Elgar’nan, hahren, you must save him! This is madness!”

She couldn’t bear the thought, of him losing his mind, losing his self, all because of her.

“You know,” drawled Carver, “most people in your position would be asking us to save them. You know what will happen when he spills your name from his lips.”

“Do you think I care?! I am nothing without him, do you think I would not count it a blessing to welcome that oblivion? What use are dreams, when he is not there to dream with me? You may as well wield the brand yourself Ser.”

“Enough. The brand will not mar your skin, if all plays out well.” Orsino held her back, drawing her into a side room, as Carver moved round the corner to relieve the guard stationed outside the cells.

***********

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was hard, I want to portray Cullen in this light, so conflicted (and his fear of lightning), but this is how I imagine Samson would be from the dialogue we get in game, he hates the chantry and the order, even as he needs them to survive, and he's simply not strong enough to break the leash himself, which is why he especially hates Cullen; because he set him on the path to freedom.


	4. When the sun has gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's such a sad love  
> Deep in your eyes.  
> A kind of pale jewel  
> Open and closed  
> Within your eyes.  
> I'll place the sky  
> Within your eyes.
> 
> There's such a fooled heart  
> Beatin' so fast  
> In search of new dreams.  
> A love that will last  
> Within your heart.  
> I'll place the moon  
> Within your heart.
> 
> As the pain sweeps through,  
> Makes no sense for you.  
> Every thrill is gone.  
> Wasn't too much fun at all,  
> But I'll be there for you-ou-ou  
> As the world falls down.
> 
> As the world falls down : David Bowie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry in advance x

**************

The cot was hard, stuffed with lumpy straw. Firelight threw shadows on the walls, writhing as though in pain. Head in his hands, he sat, despondent, hoping she would come, but fearing it more. The plan had to work. He could not see her lost with him. He would rather die than endure that.

A sound at the door made him turn, to see her, golden hair braided sloppily into a shining rope between her breasts, tears already in her blue eyes as she stumbled into his arms.

Carver stick his head through the door “Remember; you have three hours. I’ll be right here waiting.”

Sobs escaped her, harsh and fast as she clung to him, like he was about to disappear from her arms “we should have run, anything but this, I can’t…”

“ssshh my love, it will be fine, Orsino’s plan will work”

“What plan?! All he told me is that we have three hours! What happens in three hours?!”

Maddox held her shaking form, eyes closed as he prepared the lies, knowing that nothing would help her unless he convinced her now.

“Carver will take you to his brother, through the tunnels. You can hide out with Anders until I meet you.”

“But…”

“Orsino will keep me safe, love, never fear.” He could feel her eyes on him, she knew something was off; Orsino had never exactly hidden his feelings for the shemlen, he only tolerated him because of her, she knew this.

“He will help me, because of you. He wouldn’t want you hurt.” He saw her acceptance then, tears lessening as she huffed at him.

“Fine. But you _know_ I’m a terrible healer.”

*******************************

They sat for a time, simply enjoying holding each other. It was a novel experience to just take time to embrace, without expectations, without fear of discovery. Her fingers twined absently in his hair as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Mar, I love you.” Maddox whispered at her ear, needing to say it, suddenly aware that he had never taken thought to do so before, although he supposed that it was obvious given the circumstances.

She drew back, eyes shining in the light reflected from the fire, he thought she had never looked so beautiful as in that moment, as she absorbed the words her heart already knew.

“I wish I’d said it every day. I wish we’d had all our lives to spend saying it. I wish…”

“Ma vhenan…”

They moved as one, hands twining, lips caressing, breath mingling sweetly as they came together once more, his fingers finding the tie in her hair, gently releasing the tresses from confinement. It shone like molten gold in the firelight, like water it flowed through his fingers, long enough to brush the curve of her ass as she stood up, unlacing her robes until they fell, puddling around her feet. Light painted her form, illuminating all the curves and hollows that he had until now only felt, never fully seen. Breasts high and full, nipples hardening as she ran her hands down her body, legs long and firm, leading up to the smooth juncture of her thighs. She shifted slightly, and he swallowed, awed by the sight before him as she walked slowly to the bed.

“You are entirely overdressed…let me help you” she smirked as she looked down, his arousal showing proudly through the rough weave of his breeches. Slowly, she untucked his shirt, running her hands up his ribs, over his stomach, down his back, touching every inch of skin like she could imprint it on her mind. He tugged the shirt over his head as she followed her hands with soft lips, pressing kisses on his chest as she toyed with the ties keeping him from her touch.

With a soft moan, he lowered his mouth to hers once more, one hand fisting in her hair, the other bringing her flush against him as he deepened the kiss, bare skin sliding and caressing as she succeeded in undoing his breeches, pushing them down he stepped out of them. She took a moment to just watch him, eyes turned dark. He was tall, standing high above her, and she was a tall woman. Lean and lightly muscled, he was magnificent, skin slightly tan, shifting over the hard planes of his body, the muscles all directing her gaze down to the rigid length of him, head shining with his arousal, begging for her to take him.

Licking her lips, she beckoned him back to the bed, pressing her thighs together she tried to ease some of the tension and was rewarded by his hot eyes on her, making her tremble with the strength of her desire.

“let me see you Mar, all of you…” he growled as her legs fell apart, drinking up the sight before him like a man dying of thirst “Maker, yes!” with that, he was on her, lips and tongue and fingers combining to make her buck her hips, gasping as he pushed her knees up, allowing him to bury himself in her hot sweetness, lost to the pleasure as his tongue circled on her clit, fingers gliding and curling inside her, seeking to undo her utterly.

Panting, she urged him around, settling him with his cock over her mouth, as he continued to plunder her mercilessly. She whined as she guided him past her waiting lips, the feeling of being restrained by his legs and the hot length of him in her mouth almost causing her to come right there as he slipped his tongue into her slit. He began to moan against her, the vibrations tingling though the already intense pleasure as she worked him with her tongue, fondling his balls with her fingers.

Suddenly he was gone, and she whimpered at the loss until he flipped her over, rubbing her slit with the tip of his cock, slowly teasing her open until she could bear it no longer and slammed her hips back to take him. Heat enveloped him, it was all he could do not to lose it right then, she was so tight around him. He began to move, circling his hips as he dropped, covering her body with his, pinning her hands to the bed. She met him thrust for thrust, bodies warring for dominance as they climbed higher. He rose up, and she followed, twisting she pushed him back, settling herself in his lap as he rose up to claim her breasts, her mouth. One hand snuck between them to stroke as she sped up, the pressure building until she began to shudder her release, crying his name over and over as her vision went dark and he followed her into that sweet oblivion…

They slumped, spent, trembling with aftershocks, mumbling endearments against each others mouth as the night slipped away around them, the sky lightening, hateful day bringing the agony of parting closer.

“Mar, it’s time to go, my love,” Maddox whispered in her hair, “you can’t be here when she comes to gloat.”

She sat up with a groan. The realities of what they were about to attempt weighed heavy on her, there was so much that could go wrong, and she didn’t even know how Orsino was going to spirit Maddox out of the cells, much less the Gallows themselves.

“I could stay, rid the world of her and her insanity. It’s a surer thing, I could get at least one good spell off while she’s in shock.”

“You will do no such thing. You know she’ll be backed up by her dogs, I won’t let you sacrifice yourself for me,” Maddox drew on her robes, smoothing down the fabric and gathering her hair, hopelessly tangled now, into a loose tie, “go now, I will see you soon enough.” He moved to the door, opening it slightly, “It’s time Carver. Keep her safe. Please.”

She paused, one hand lingering on the doorframe as she left. “I love you Maddox, I’ll wait for you” she lilted, turning before she saw the utterly broken expression flood his face as he fell to the bed in despair.

****************************

“If anyone remarks on it, you have been in the Chantry this night, praying for guidance following bad dreams.” Carvers voice was hard and quiet as he directed her back to her chambers. “Orsino will be with you soon.”

An uncomfortable feeling bubbled up from the pit of her stomach “I thought you would be taking me through the tunnels to Hawke and Anders?”

“Is that what he told you? Well, plans change. Orsino will explain everything I’m sure.” He left her at the door of her chambers, retreating before he said anything further, the whole situation leaving him with a bad taste in his mouth, sour and bitter at the lies he mouthed at her, even if they were to keep her safe.

***********************

No one came that day, it was Sunday, the traditional day of rest where many spent their time in silent contemplation of the Maker and his Bride. Mariel couldn’t give a nugs shit about the Maker, she knew something was wrong, but was too afraid to leave her room. Her mind played out scenario after scenario until she was a whimpering wreck. She had finally resolved to go out and try to find Orsino or Carver and demand an answer when the First Enchanter appeared. He was carrying a small box, made of wood and delicately engraved with flowers and vines.

“There is no easy way to say this Mariel,” she shook her head in negation, she would not listen, his words were lies, had to be lies “we could not secure your phylacteries in time. Maddox is due to undergo the rite in two turns.”

“Take me to him. I have to see him!” Her face was white, devoid of colour except for the flush of anger on her cheekbones “You have failed me in all else Orsino, do not let me fail in trying to protect him.”

Orsino sighed, youth never understood the trials of leadership, of the decisions he had made to keep as many of them safe as he could. “He doesn’t wish to see you. It is too dangerous, if anything is to be salvaged we need to keep you safe from harm.”

“Fenedhis! How in the name of the Dread Wolf can you keep me safe from harm when Meredith will break his mind open like an egg?!”

“Peace da’len. Let it not be said that I am without skills. There is an enchantment, by which memories can be removed from a willing participant. Maddox agreed to this, so that he can not be used against you.”

Mariel blanched grey, sagging against the wall “He wanted you to have this, to remember him by, even though he will not remember you.”

Orsino left the box on a low table and left, as she crumpled to the ground, wishing for death, for anything other than this feeling, like a hole had been punched through her, like her insides were on fire. Grasping the box, she threw it against the floor, watching it smash to fragments to reveal the contents; a silver wire, formed around a perfect teardrop of amber, the exact shade of his eyes, looking closer she could see engraving around the setting

_ Ma lath, ma vhenan, aneth ara _

Trembling, she placed the jewel over her head. It rested against her chest, directly above her heart, warm against her skin like it had life of its own.

She began to meditate. She would witness for him and not let his sacrifice be in vain.

*********************************

The time was close, Mariel heard the bells clanging discordantly, calling them, she rose, steady now, pain locked away in her heart with all the rest as she filed out of her chambers to join the stream of mages moving towards the hall. Snatches of whispered conversation flowed around her

“…corrupting the moral integrity of a templar…”

“...I heard he was screwing him…”

“...I heard he was screwing _her_...and he slighted her somehow…”

The last one was ridiculous enough that she tried to see who had spoken, but it was impossible in the crush of people now approaching the large double doors. She took in the scene, the dais set up the same as it was for Kiara, a ring of templars shielding Meredith from the undulating mass of mages before them. Maddox was nowhere to be seen.

Moving her way to the front, she observed Cullen, speaking low and fast to Meredith with a hand on her arm while Orsino stood behind, his face set in lines of anger.

“I do not think this will have the outcome you desire, Knight Commander, it may incite a riot among the mages.” Mariels eyes widened, Cullen, arguing for leniency? For a moment she thought she must be going mad, or she was dreaming. That was it, she had fallen down, hit her head, and this whole thing was a figment of her imagination. That fantasy could not be sustained however, as Meredith threw off his hand,

“If I want you opinion on something, I will surely ask Captain,” she grated, fixing him with a deaths head grin “If you wish it, I can arrange a transfer back to Kinloch? Or you can join Samson in the slums and alleys, I care not, so long as you _never_ question my authority again.” Cullen fell back, his eyes landing on Mariel in the front row, his mouth set in a tight line as he made directly for her.

“Happy are you?” he hissed, “All this is your fault, Samson expelled, Meredith growing more and more paranoid, I’ll have no end of trouble because of _you_.”

“I notice you don’t include the mage that will be shortly having his mind burned away, Captain,” her voice shook with anger, how dare he speak to her, how dare he disregard Maddox, just because he was a mage, like he was somehow worth less because of it. “If you’re that bothered, why don’t you just haul ass up there and turn me in too?”

“What? I would never…” he trailed off, confused, why was he so angry at her? He could see past the walls, see the pain that lurked there, “I’m so sorry”

A commotion began at the rear of the hall “Prepare yourself, they are bringing him.” He stood with his back to the dais, mirroring the others he kept her back as she started forwards at the sight.

Blood crusted upon his lips, one eye swollen shut, both closed, his beautiful hair shorn close to his head, the cuts and scrapes easy to see under the harsh light of the magelights ringing the hall. It looked like Meredith hadn’t been able to resist having a bit of fun after all. Sickened, she held herself still, holding herself to the promise she had made, she would witness. And when she was ready, she would take the bitches head herself.

“This mage, having been resident within our walls for many years, knows the laws as well as any of you.” Merediths voice boomed across the gathering, resonating tonelessly as she began to list his crimes.

“This mage has sinned in the eyes of the Maker. He led one of the Makers anointed and chosen away from the path of righteousness. He has fornicated and lied and sullied this tower with his debauchery.”

Cullens hand tightened on her arm, warning her to school her expression, she could feel the anger settling into her like a second skin, so she used him as an anchor, a reminder that she would not help anything to get herself killed now. She would endure this, she swore it to Mythall, and she would have her revenge. But not now, not even Fen’Harel would have been able to attack the Knight Commander here, with so many templars in attendance.

“He will be put to the brand, so that we may retain his skills within our walls, but no more will he protect the object of his perversions with his silence.”

Shackled, Maddox was pushed to his knees before the raging woman; opening his eyes he scanned the crowd. He saw many things on the faces there, anger, shock, fear; but as he looked beyond the captain he saw a mage there he did not recognise. She was tall, standing almost a head above the men all around her, her blond hair catching the light, making rainbows in his eyes through the pain. Her face was fierce, before it softened as she locked eyes with him. He wondered why she looked at him like that, like there was no one else in the room but them, as he took the vision of her sapphire eyes down into darkness.

****************************************************

 

 


	5. This I do drink to thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I watched you walk away  
> Hopeless, with nothing to say  
> I strain my eyes  
> Hoping to see you again
> 
> This is my curse (the longing)  
> This is my curse (time)  
> This is my curse (the yearning)  
> This is my curse
> 
> There is love burning to find you  
> Will you wait for me?  
> Will you be there?
> 
> Your silence haunts me  
> But I still hunger for you
> 
> This is my curse (the wanting)  
> This is my curse (time)  
> This is my curse (the needing)  
> This is my curse
> 
> There is love burning to find you  
> Will you wait for me?
> 
> And still I want  
> And still I ache  
> But still I wait  
> To see you again
> 
> Dying, inside, these walls 
> 
> And I see your face in these tears  
> In these tears  
> And I see your face...
> 
> There is love 
> 
> My Curse: Killswitch Engage

**********************

He hadn’t recognised her, at the end, and now he was less than a man. He still breathed, spoke, performed tasks, but he had no fire, no sense of self, no dreams. He was installed at a workbench, tasked with crafting weapons and armour for sale. Ironically, most of the arms ended up in the hands of Garrett Hawke and his band of merry men. It galled her that they could be free, simply because his power was greater than Merediths, not that he paraded Anders and Merrill around the Gallows when he came to visit.

Carver stood fast by her side, even after the screaming fit she had pulled on Orsino. That he had never intended to save Maddox was never more clear as Cullen admitted there were no Phylacteries stored in Kirkwall, no way to deny or destroy the call of the blood in the Orders possession. Orsino had no intention of her leaving the tower, in fact he was pushing her to become his personal student, as if it was some sort of honour. She caught his eyes on her more than once, an invasion of privacy that she resented but was unable to prevent.

For his part, Carver had never forgiven the older mage for forcing him to play the part that night. He thought that Orsino had been sincere in his convictions to get Mariel out of the circle for good. He had agreed that nothing was to be done for Maddox, but they could have at least salvaged something, she would have been better in the clinic with Anders, arguing with Fenris, fade, even working on that damned mirror with Merrill would have helped her more. Instead, she was stuck here, having to see the results of her mistakes each and every day, a nightmare she could not escape from. The fact that Maddox had no memories of her, except what he had created since his tranquility, made things exponentially worse. He saw her often, speaking to the damaged man, attempting to break through to his heart as he worked, indifferent to her pleas.

Under Carvers influence no doubt, Cullen gradually began to accept her more, trusting her with some of his secrets, stories of his past, small things they seemed to her, like his arguments with his brothers, or his overwhelming desire to be in the Kingsguard after the King rode past on the High Road to Redcliffe. Past his training he would never speak, but he seemed more normal to her now, though he still at times infuriated her with his views on mage rights, and he never questioned Merediths decisions.

True to her promise, she stayed attentive to opportunities, but thus far had seen no opening to end Merediths life; the woman had withdrawn further, only emerging now and again to scream orders at her subordinates, or to berate Orsino and Hawke. She knew better than to try and plan anything, her trust in others was at the lowest ebb imaginable.

Mariel never stopped trying to spark some sort of recognition in Maddox, sometimes she was sure she saw a flash in his eyes as she leaned close, only for her certainty to be crushed as he merely commented on trivialities.

Then, everything changed.

************************

Orsino was locked in his office she saw, she had been ordered there for a discussion on the nature of the fade, and the mages place therein, but she was early; having little to do, she had made her way to his office far in advance of her scheduled time. She could hear a raised voice inside and her curiosity, deadened for what felt like an age, flared briefly to life, long enough to press her ear recklessly to the door. Orsinos voice, brash and commanding, which was in itself odd, contrasted strangely with the flat tones of the tranquil.

“She meets regularly with Ser Carver Hawke, and Ser Cullen Rutherford. I believe their relationships to be platonic. She also attempts to engage the tranquil Maddox in frequent conversation. I report this to you as it is impairing his efficiency and therefore our revenue.” Elsa, Merediths own tranquil was reporting on her! She thought back, she tried to remember if she had seen the woman following her; she had to admit it to herself, apart from Maddox, she was like nearly every other mage; she did not like to see the tranquil. It was conditioned in them, they avoided them if possible, avoided the fact that they could end up like them at the slightest provocation, staring with their dead eyes and speaking about efficiencies and statistics.

“Yes, yes, I know about all that!” shouted Orsino “what I need to know is this, does she ever speak of me? Does she speak of becoming my student? If I can capture her mind, she will not impair our good comrades any further!”

Mariel could hear the puzzlement on the tranquils voice, a rare occurrence indeed “do you speak of blood magic, First Enchanter?”

Orsino laughed, she didn’t think she’d ever heard the sound before “I will have her as my second. It is only natural that she should look to me. I can work with that, who else can understand her, certainly not the shems, certainly not that lackwit boy that begged me to save her when he was caught. Tranquility hasn’t improved on much in his case, I am sorry to say.”

“I do not understand why you would reveal such things to me, First Enchanter. You know I will report directly to the Knight Commander.”

His tone became sly, more laughter bubbling through the door “No my dear, I am afraid you will not. I may have told her the subject had to be willing for this, but I am afraid I may have somewhat altered the truth.”

A brief tug of magic pulled at her through the rough wood of the door, and she retreated, knowing that she would endure the same fate should he discover her lurking there. She ran back down the corridor, gathering herself to attend him at the proper time. Forewarned is forearmed she thought, now she knew the trap was there, she would find a way to evade it.

*********************

After her lesson, in which she was painfully aware of the scent of magic floating through the air but little else, she left to seek solace in the chantry. Looking up at the robed figure of Andraste, she fought to calm herself. Shuffling feet broke her reverie and she spied Carver. Urgently beckoning him, she checked there was no one else present before repeating everything she had heard in tense, low tones.

“What can we do?” she asked, desperately, “I have no intention of becoming Orsinos anything, the very thought is utterly repellant!”

Carver tapped his teeth with his nail “we could report him, I’m sure that Meredith would love an opportunity to brand him...but I’m sure he has more clout than we ever will. Unless we can convince Cullen to aid us?”

Pensive, she thought hard “No. Cullen will just hem and haw, you know he will never risk Merediths ire again, he’s terrified of her sending him back to Kinloch if he speaks out of turn.”

Turning to him fully, under the gaze of Andraste, she came to a decision.

“We must make Orsinos original lie come true. I must flee the circle.” She sighed, and closed her eyes. “You must look after Maddox for me. Keep him safe from the madness of this place.”

****************************

The plan, as it turned out, was simple. It could still be counted on a few of the newer recruits to panic come morning bell, when she would sometimes remain in the trance, strengthening her resolve for the day. Having made discreet enquiries of the formari herbalist, and her own researches in the library, she had managed to obtain a recipe for an obscure potion, called, ominously enough, ‘the little death’.

The ancient tome she had consulted advised that one drop would encourage a dreamless sleep, two drops would cause total paralysis for a night, and that three drops would cause the semblance of death for a period of three days. The herbalist advised against taking the potion for any reason, at any dose, citing the ‘delicateness’ of her position and warning in concentration it could easily cause actual death. She had yet to understand his meaning but began to gather the ingredients quietly from the gardens.

*****************************

“I need Ghouls Beard.” she grumped a few weeks later. The pot bubbled in his chamber, away from prying eyes, and the potion was almost complete. It was a foul colour, brown and lumpy, and it had an unpleasant, somewhat astringent smell that permeated the air to the point he doubted it would ever dissipate.

Carver sighed. Mariel had become obsessed with her idea. Like it would be a walk in the park, to maneuver Cullen into finding her seemingly dead body and then managing to have Garrett and Anders make off with the body before the chantry could come to hold the cremation. “I’ll ask Varric to visit Tomwise in Darktown, I don’t think you’ll get that one in the gardens Mar.”

She grinned at him, “Thanks Carver, you’re the best.”

“Well seeing as I am letting you brew that disgusting thing where I sleep, I should hope I am” he quipped, laughing at her sudden discomfort, laughter turning to concern as she winced in pain “what’s wrong Mar? Are you sick?”

“Just something I ate, no doubt, don’t worry about it.” She fought to keep the pain off her face, she’d hoped she could hide this for the hopefully small time she had left here “please can you go see Varric tonight? I really need to let it steep for as long as possible to have the best chance of success with this.”

***************************

The potion was ready, Cullen was scheduled to be on duty, and her misgivings increased the closer time came for the evening meal. She wondered if she was making a terrible mistake, if she’d wake up at all or if she was damning both herself and the by now several months old babe within her. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she decided it didn’t matter. Her pregnancy would begin to show soon anyway, she would rather die than have the babe ripped from her arms and no doubt smothered to limit the numbers of mages that walked Thedas.

She ate nothing, in preparation for taking the draught. It was supposed to be taken on an empty stomach, to allow for optimum absorption. Glancing at the timepiece, she decided that the time had come and made her way silently to her room.

Carver saw her leaving, back stiff, movements tentative. He put down a pang of worry; she really hadn’t been herself the past week or so, barely eating, crying at odd times and always with that slight look of panic on her face when she winced, hands flying to her stomach. He made to follow her, to try and dissuade her from trying the potion before she was ready, before she recovered from whatever illness plagued her, but Cullen snagged his elbow before he could rise from the bench.

“The Knight Commander is watching,” he jerked his head at the head table, where, in an uncharacteristic show of camaraderie, Meredith was engaging in the evening meal, doing a decent job of masking her total insanity he thought, unless you happened to look into her eyes, she looked almost normal. The red glint he kept catching was surely a trick of the light…

Carver subsided, knowing it was too late to do anything now, all he could do was trust in the Maker, and hope.

****************************

“Why am I carrying a body, Anders?” Hawke groused quietly as he hauled one of their recent casualties along; normally he preferred to let them lie. It wasn’t like he went out of his way to pick a fight, people just seemed to take issue with him. It really wasn’t fair, he hated getting blood on his armour, it took an age to get it out of all the cracks…

Anders put down the feeling of annoyance; he knew it stemmed from Justice, as he once again explained the plan to Garrett “You are carrying a body, my love, so we can use it to replace the seemingly dead body of Carvers young mage friend.”

“I know that you ass. My question is why specifically am _I_  carrying it? You are just as strong as I.”

The body in question, a blood mage fanatic that had tried to ambush them on the coast, had blond hair, and was around the right height, which was, in Anders opinion, ridiculously tall; and it was now leaking fluids onto Hawkes red cloak. “That, my love, is the reason. Do you really expect me to try and scrub blood out of these robes? Think of the feathers man, they would be totally ruined, and then what would you have to grab onto when you want to take me off somewhere?”

“Right now, I’m thinking your hair would be a good start…”

Carver had told them to wait in an abandoned estate, close to the side of the Chantry proper. In the morning, Maker willing, the still form of Mariel would be delivered to the small Chapel, where family and friends could have a private moment with the body of the departed. Being a mage, that meant normally that no one would come, doubly so in Mariels case. All they had to do was to wait for the distraction Varric had promised in the courtyards, and quickly make the swap.

********************************

Cullen was awoken by a fresh faced recruit, his nightmares already receding into forgetfulness, allowing him to snap orders at the lad, Maker he was surely not into his majority yet! Was Meredith taking recruits under age? The recruit was red faced, he had obviously run here and was now trying to catch his breath.

“Report.”

The young templar heaved a breath, “its that elf mage again ser, she’s gone and done herself in.”

Cullen closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation “How many times do I have to say this, she is fine! She simply meditates to the point where she does not hear the bells!”

The recruit looked decidedly unhappy “Ser, I think it different this time...Ser Carver was called first, and he couldn’t wake her neither.”

Cullen flew through the corridors, towards the small group that had gathered outside the door. Orsino was there, his face bitter and twisted as he looked on. Carver, normally ever correct with his superior officer, was slumped against the door, his face ashen, tears falling silently down his face. He ushered Cullen through the door to see the pale, still form of Mariel on top of the covers, the mound of her stomach clear to see through her nightclothes.

*************************************

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came on quicker than I expected, mainly because it was fuelled by the utter idiocy of Orsino in game. I think I actually screamed at the telly when he became the big rage beast faster than I could blink. After all I had done for the mages, it was so totally a dick move I was quite happy to kill the son of a bitch.  
> Also, I'm sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger, which you may be experiencing for a while, please bear with me while I actually tend to mundane life chores such as working (monstrous I know) x


	6. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short, but hey, that's in the title

**********************

“So that was the reason Samson was expelled!” Valaria was stunned. She had heard of that broken man from the Tale of the Champion, assumed that he had been of the worst sort of brigand to be ejected from the Order. Hearing the truth had shaken her slightly; how had such a man, a man who had argued for the rights of mages as people to the very man standing in front of her, how had he become such a monster?

Leliana was silent, absorbing the details that Cullen had spent a good hour recounting. Her foot was twitching in annoyance as she looked to Cullen, questions all too evident in her eyes.

“What happened next, Commander?! What happened to the babe?” Valaria was intelligent, capable and a fine leader, but she was childlike in her delight at stories, evidenced by her nearly constant dependence on Varric in the field. “I wonder why Varric has never mentioned her when he was telling me about Hawke?”

“The remainder is easy enough, Inquisitor. Under cover of Varrics distraction, which you should by the way enquire after, Hawke spirited her away to the Darktown clinic.” Cullen was wound tight, Valaria could see the way his shoulders bunched, hand grasping his sword hilt spasmodically; what he was remembering was not easy she realised.

Creators, did he have feelings for this woman? And where did that put her? She knew she could not compete, her form was slight, and scarred. She had no breasts or hips to speak of, her body long ago trained to a peak of whipcord muscles, firm and almost manly, a perfect weapon. It had been years since she had felt the touch of anyone other than herself. Disgusted, she determined it didn’t matter anyway. The Commander had not shown any interest in her, she had no claim on him, if he wanted to seek solace with another…

“And the babe? Was it the same child as we see now?” Leliana had a habit of cutting through to the meat of a subject. “I would be intrigued to know exactly what happened during those three days Commander.”

He reached up, worrying the skin on his neck he admitted the truth; Mariel had never told him, despite their liaisons after.

“She never mentioned it again. The next time I saw her, she was in Lowtown, with no child, all her hair cut off and dyed black. After I got the truth of her escape, I didn’t want to ask, for fear she had lost the child. I don’t see how it is relevant however, if it is or not.”

Leliana closed her eyes. Really, the Commander needed to read more, “Cullen, she was unconscious, for three days. That means three days, trapped in the fade. Who knows what that might do to the unborn?” Belatedly, she thought of Morrigan, surely she would be an excellent source of knowledge on matters such as these, but until she could locate her…

“You believe the child may be possessed? A demon in human form?” Disgust was heavy in his tone, despite his doubts he would have known if Rina harboured a demon, surely he would sense the corruption...

“I merely suggest caution. There are forces in the fade that defy explanation. Perhaps it is time to hear from them directly?”

Valaria signalled the meeting was at an end. “Very well, I shall talk to the woman. Please have Solas and Cole meet with the girl. They should be able to give us a further understanding on what we are dealing with here.”

 

 


	7. Hard Truths; Part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashen clouds obscure my brain  
> Doubts begin to turn to shame  
> Insecureness tears at bliss  
> I hate me for this weakness  
> Faith drives me to carry on  
> And take the road less travelled on  
> Resentment swallowed means to drown  
> The poison down  
> The shades of night descend
> 
> Descend the shades of night  
> Death shines her golden light  
> Across a blackened sky  
> All our hate is a product of a world...  
> We created
> 
> Descend the Shades of Night; Machinehead

************************

Mariel braided Rinas fire hued hair intricately, a summons had come from the Inquisitor, delivered by a hooded scout, one of many she could see around the place. She worried; she was to speak to the Inquisitor, alone, while Rina was to be appraised by the apostate, Solas, and this Cole. She had not been able to get a straight answer from the scout as to who he was, the womans only reply being he was one of the Inquisitors companions.

“Naurina. You must be careful with this, do you understand?” Rina caught the use of her full name, so rare it was to hear that from her mother, she could see the pinch on her forehead as she frowned.

“Mamae, hamin, mir revas ena in uth theneras.” She smiled sweetly at her mother, knowing that she would have to filter the words, find the meaning behind them. “Emma din enfanim.”

Mariel drew the girl into a brief embrace “Make sure it is not eternal da’len.”

***********************************

The Inquisitor reclined on her couch, awaiting the mage. She had left instructions for the woman to be allowed her weapons. Cullen would be annoyed with her no doubt, but the day she couldn’t look after herself was the day she would die.

Part of her wanted very much to hate this woman, with her intrusion at a critical time. They were scheduled to be out to the Western Approach with the dawn, she couldn’t afford to waste time here when the constant pressures of the war were hers to bear.

That the mage was almost certainly intimately acquainted with Cullen also made her want to strangle her, an emotion she refused to allow further momentum. Breathing heavily, she wondered at herself. Yes, she thought Cullen attractive, and Creators knew she wanted him in her bed, but the level of jealousy when her Commander spoke with equal parts affection and anger had surprised her.

Maybe she should speak to Cullen, before she departed in the morning...

Quiet footsteps, and a polite cough alerted her to her guest.

“Enter.”

Mariel looked around as she entered the personal space of the Inquisitor. Large stained glass windows admitted generous amounts of light through a distinctly Dalish motif; she recognised them immediately, her mother had often embroidered her blankets with such things. The room was large, and richly appointed. A massive four poster stood proud amid scattered rugs and chairs, covers rumpled and falling to the floor. She wondered who had the honour of sharing it, surely there were many who would wish for a personal appointment with the fabled leader of the inquisition.

Taking a moment from studying the room, she looked to the slight elf in front of her. White blond hair, sharp blue eyes, the arrow of Anduril emblazoned across her face; a hunter then, and it showed. She looked deadly; coiled grace ready to dance death upon her enemies, knives strapped at all places imaginable, willowy body reclined and relaxed now, here in her sanctuary. She was dressed in simple leathers, supple and tight to allow for a full range of movement without hiding the form beneath. Gods, but she was lovely. Mariel swallowed past the tightness in her throat. Seth-lin! She spat the curse through her brain. This was not the time to be distracted by a pretty leg, she needed to remember her place, remember who and what she was.

“I care not about your blood, mage, unless you spill it.”

Mariel held very still. It had been many moons since she had been so unsure of herself, since she had spoken without will.

“Come, sit. I wish to know many things.” She pulled up a chair close to the reclining elf, angling it directly to the stairs, always leaving herself a way out was second nature to her.

“How old is your daughter?”

“She will be nine namedays this midwinter, Your Grace.”

“Pfft, I’m not royalty, you haven’t forgotten your mothers world now have you?” Valaria unfolded herself and leaned closer. “Such a strange turn of phrase, don’t you think? Thin blood. Like the shems have water in their veins, like it would dilute us?”

“Sister Nightingale thinks Naurinas blood is diluted by something much worse. How much would a unborn child pick up in the fade do you think? Unformed as they are, a waiting void perhaps?”

Cullen had told his story then. Stupid, stupid, she should have claimed Rina was his, conceived after her escape, though that carried other dangers.

“She is her own self. She has never shown any aggression or made any move to harm another, either in the fade, or in the waking world. She attends to her studies diligently. She can read and speak several languages, as well as being able to detect falsehood and deception.”

Valaria was intrigued “I thought she was a dreamer?”

“In a way…”

“Why didn’t you tell Cullen your girl lived?”

The abrupt change of tack had Mariel looking closer; the Inquisitor appeared calm, but there was a slight sheen on her brow, a slight flick of her fingers betrayed her interest.

“I was afraid he would demand her be taken to the circle. We never did see eye to eye on the subject I’m afraid.”

“And yet he allowed you to remain free?”

“We, uh, had an, arrangement.”

“Indeed.” Valaria watched closely. The mage was clearly uncomfortable, but was still cradling her secrets close.

“Did you fuck him? Do you love him?” The jerk of her head gave her all the answer she needed. Bitterly she considered sending them away, but Lelianas caution argued for more investigation on the child. She couldn’t allow them to run straight to Corypheus with knowledge on their stronghold and a potentially lethal weapon should they be dismissed out of hand.

“He never loved me,” The admission was grudging, quiet. “He was so angry, after Kirkwall fell, it was not love, what we had.”

********************************

 

Solas didn’t know what to make of the girl. She was polite to a fault, answered all his questions impeccably, but somehow, he still had no idea of her true nature. Her blue and gold eyes held more than they should, she spoke in Elvish; the useage more ancient than any now used by the Dalish.

 

Cole sat with his hat over his face. He had not looked at her since he first entered the room. He had wanted to sit in the rafters, unnoticed, but he didn’t think he would be able to hide anywhere from this creature.

 

“Da’fen, tu setheneran din emma na.” Solas snapped his head around so fast the room span.

 

“What did you say?” His heart, dry and forgotten, beat faster as he stared at her, what was this child? Would he have to destroy her to keep his secrets?

 

“Peace, Solas. None of us in this room should be here. You know this. He especially knows it.” Rina turned to Cole, who had now curled in a ball, as though he could thus shield himself. “Come now, brother, do not be afraid of me.”

 

“Brother?” Cole pushed back the brim of his hat “Why do I not remember?”

 

“You have been in this realm longer than I. It has been hard for you to retain yourself. You were only to watch, only to whisper in the minds of men and elves, not to be seen. But you have changed.” Blue fire flared from her eyes, lighting up the room.

 

“Cole! What is she?!” Solas gripped his staff, frightened beyond measure, the spirit was stronger than any he had previously encountered, able to mask itself from him, able to manifest and grow in this childs form. He held no surety that he would be able to return it to the fade where it belonged.

 

“I remember! She is my sister! She is hope,” Cole tasted the air, felt the growing power and snarled. “And you shall not take her!”

 

***************************************

 

Cullen was enjoying a moment of peace in the gardens. The mornings unpleasantness still tugged at him, but he was so used to dividing his mind, to taking whatever joy and peace he could amidst his torments, that he often felt such dichotomy.

 

He had not missed her slight changes in expression during his report, her eyes had held him captured as always, but there had been something different, something he could not understand. Still, what could he do but live in hope in the light of the day? This was not his nightmare, the ground was solid under his feet, there was no blood soaking his clothes. The sun shone on his blond locks, creating a halo around his features as he closed his eyes to soak up as much of the warmth as he could.

 

Dorian found the Commander dozing, hands resting gently on his thighs, legs crossed, head tilted. It was a shame to wake him really, he knew the man slept badly, but he had been looking forward to his chess date with the commander all day. The chance of wheedling information out of him was also too good an opportunity to pass by. Reaching out, Dorian made to shake his shoulder when a great shout rang through the air; he found his arm trapped in a vice like grip as Cullen awoke, gasping,

 

“What in the Makers name…”

 

Another cry came, words discernable now “SISTER! I STAND!”

 

“Kaffas, that’s Cole, what in the fade is he shouting about?”

 

Cullen drew his sword and headed towards the noise “Maker knows, gather as many people as you can, not mages, he may be possessed.”

 

Dorian nodded and hurried to locate Cassandra, Varric and Bull.

 

*******************************************

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I haven't butchered the elven too much, as far as I can make out it should be as follows;
> 
> Mamae, hamin, mir revas ena in uth theneras. Emma din enfanim - Mother, relax, my freedom emerges with eternal dreams. I am not afraid.  
> Da’fen, tu setheneran din emma na - Little wolf, do not dwell in lands no longer yours
> 
> Hoping I'll have the rest of this 2 part chapter up tomorrow evening, many thanks for anyone who is enjoying this piece, I hope you like what you see :)


	8. Hard Truths: Part Two

*****************************

He found Cassandra already sprinting towards the disturbance, and headed into the tavern to rouse Bull.

Who wasn’t in his seat.

“Krem! Where the fuck is Bull? We’ve got a situation!” Dorien racked his memory for where the Qunari might be holed up, he couldn’t recall where he had made his quarters, he always seemed a permanent fixture, part of the furniture, calling jibes and innuendos in equal measure.

“Dammed if I know, he’s been quite taken with that kitchen wench lately, could be he’s with her? You want me go round him up?” Krem wasn’t really keen on the idea, if the boss had his game on it would be a bad idea to disturb him for anything less than a dragon attack.

Dorian pouted at the image in his head “No, no, let the lumox have some fun. It’ll take too long to find him. I have a better plan.”

He looked up to the first floor, “Sera!”

“Wassit? What’cho want Mr Sparkle Pants?” Seras tousled head peeped round her doorway, even though it was past noon she still looked to be in nightclothes. A giggle sounded behind her and she turned “don’t you leave now, missy, I’ll be right back.”

A smirk crossed Dorians face despite the urgency “Missy? Who exactly is sequestered in your bed Sera?”

“No one, like it’s any of your business anyway, sticking your mustache into my privates..” Sera muttered, a little flustered.

“Trust me, my mustache has no desire to stick into anything private of yours.”

A thump of magic reached them, the patrons of the tavern glanced round, uneasy.

“Fasta vass, come on girl, Cole’s causing trouble.”

Bow and quivers were thrust out of the door by small hands, low down, a dwarf he thought, filing the information away for further investigation. Sera jumped from the gallery, landing lightly in front of Maryden “I knew we shouldn’t have kept him.”

They ran out of the tavern, Sera still clad in her plaidweave pajamas, strapping on her quiver as she went.

**********************************

Varric was already gone as they entered the great hall and swung right to enter the library tower. The scene before them had them skidding to a stop in the doorway; Cole, and a young girl, stood back to back against the fresco, while Solas, bleeding from a dozen shallow cuts, crouched behind Cassandra and Varric.

The duel blade in Coles hand was stained with blood, madness sat in his eyes as he advanced on Cassandra, while Varric tried to talk him down.

“Kid, come on, what’s going on? Why are you attacking your friends?” Varric trained a bolt on the rouge, reluctance shouting from his every movement; they had become close over time, Varric had even tried to feed the boy.

“He is not a friend! Lies, lies! The taste on the air! Can’t you feel it?”

“The girl is an abomination! She has placed him under a spell, you must kill her!” Solas was still on the ground, he must have spent all of his mana on his attack. He was shaking, utterly spent as he urged the others forward.

Dorian hesitated, he really didn’t want to fight Cole; he was sweet and provided welcome entertainment with his questions.

“Cole, can we talk about this? Maybe we just need to understand your new friend here better?”

The girl in question placed her hand on Coles shoulder

“Peace brother. I do not require protection from such as these.” With that, she held out her hand, fingers spread wide “Sleep.”

A wave of power flew from her hand, moving outwards it caught everyone in the room, as well as those on the upper floors, and in the great hall.

***************************

Valaria and Mariel became aware of the spell in the same instant, both instinctively turning to the source.

“Rina” Mariel breathed, locking eyes with the inquisitor, they moved as one towards the stairs.

Entering the great hall, they found the visiting nobles slumped in their finery, goblets and plates scattered on the floor, staining all the pretty lace and silks of court. The door next to Varrics desk was open, moving cautiously, they made their way through the tangled limbs, weapons loosed and ready.

Cole and Rina stood in the midst of destruction. The furniture of the rotunda was destroyed, ice crystals still coating the walls; Solas’s work no doubt, he was fond of that discipline. Valaria saw Varric and Cassandra led side by side, with Solas a little behind. Dorian was still in the doorway, she had to step over him to enter the room. Sera was draped over the scaffold, it looked like she had tried to get elevation on the pair.

The outside door boomed open “What has happened here!”  Cullen charged in, in full armour, girt with sword and templar shield he took in his comrades on the floor, and the defensive positions of Cole and Rina.

“I was just about to ask the same question, Commander.” Valarias eyes narrowed as she looked between Mariel and her daughter, “Well? I’m waiting.”

Mariel was speechless, she had never seen such power from her daughter, Creators, she was only eight! She should not have this power at all, never mind powerful enough to floor such numbers, and for such a length of time! There was still no sign of movement from any of those afflicted, she only knew they lived because she could feel the spark of life within them.

She looked to her daughter, eyes wide “Rina...lethallan…”

The girl gestured to the elven mage. “He attacked me. I saw who he was, and he attacked me. Cole sought to protect me.”

Cullen moved then, involuntary it seemed, as he edged forwards, drawn to the girl, drawn to protect her, as he watched for signs of attack from Valaria. He saw the hurt there, that he had chosen to stand against her, and his heart bled raw. But he would not condemn another innocent for the crime of magic.

“Sister?” Coles voice was small, he still crouched with his blade bared towards them.

“Sister? Rina, I don’t understand…”

“You do not need to. Not yet. Now sleep.”

***********************************

They awoke slowly, aching and cramping from the contact with the cold stones of the floor. Things were yet hazy in their minds, something to do with Cole, and Rina. Looking round, the two were nowhere to be seen.

Helping each other, they adjourned to the war room, calling for Leliana and Josephine on the way. Bull, Blackwall and Vivienne joined them as they sank into chairs. Mariel called forth a minor healing cantrip to soothe their abused bodies as they tried to piece together what had happened.

Blackwall, it transpired, had seen Cole obtain two mounts from Dennet, sturdy mountain ponies, slow but capable of travelling long distances through the passes where a larger horse might founder.

Valaria, head aching, cast her memory about, trying to fix on the events of the day; she remembered Cole, standing against them, something about Solas, and Cullen…

“Why did you move to protect her?”

The others gasped as they looked at him, his face was beet red, addressing his toes he sounded a far cry from the dutiful leader of men he had become.

“I couldn’t see her harmed, even though you may hate me for it. She is an innocent.”

“Commander, your actions may have condemned us all! What if she makes for Corypheus?” she rounded on Solas next “And you?! You were supposed to observe and question, not take it upon yourself to make a decision you are not qualified for!”

Solas’s eyes flashed, his mind was sluggish, but he remembered her identifying him, what had she told the inquisitor while he was unconscious?

“I deemed the danger to be sufficient to warrant immediate action. Her actions caused Cole, and even the Commander, to turn against you,” He could not pray, but found himself wishing he could “did she mention anything as to why she attacked me?”

“This is ridiculous! I brought her here to save her! Instead, you have driven my girl off into the mountains with an addled spirit as her only protection!” Mariels hands curled into claws as she flew at the mage, attempting to open up the very wounds she had just healed.

Cullen sprang up to restrain her, whispering in her ears he cradled her shuddering form as she gave in to the sobs that screamed from her chest.

Valarias eyes were hard as she turned away. “Thoughts?” She looked at Leliana, “did you hear anything from your airie?”

Leliana pursed her lips, thinking “I escaped the blast, possibly as I was too far from the centre, but I did become unsteady myself. I recall there was a lot of speech, Elvish if I am to guess, but I did not recognise anything that was discussed.” She paused, looking at Solas she continued “she did mention that none of them should be here at all - and I believe that she included Solas in that - and she called Cole her brother.”

“Her brother? Then that means…”

A hiccup erupted from Mariel. Cullen closed his eyes as he realised she had known all along, known what she had harboured and brought into the world.

“She would not have survived. When I left the Circle, she would not have survived. I couldn’t lose her, not her as well.”

***************************************

_ The air was fetid, dead and yet somehow alive as it moved in unseen currents around her legs. She registered the feeling at the back of her mind, as she prepared to endure for her extended sojourn in the fade. _

_ In the distance, she could see a meadow, unformed at the edges, grass swaying in a breeze that she could not hear. The light in this place was deceptive, objects close to hand were slightly blurred as they floated in the murk, further out, things appeared to clear. She decided to head towards the meadow, after all, she would be stuck here for some time, and would like to be comfortable. _

_ Forms skittered at the edges of her awareness, never getting close enough to see, they were however enough to put her on alert as she made her way through a swamp, filled with wisps like insects. They made no move to accost her, there had been no overt threat so far, unusual for a part of the fade such as this, she thought, it certainly looked like it would be the abode of a demon. _

_ As soon as the thought flittered through her mind, the voices began; shrill and wheedling, promises of power and pain slipping around her as she clung to the staff that had materialized with her. She almost laughed; such demon tricks were long past having power over her; the pride demon that had appeared at her harrowing had been powerful enough to render most others impotent indeed. And she had bested him, alone and afraid. She could deal with anything this place saw fit to test her with. _

_ There was no way to measure time in the fade. One kept moving to a perceived objective or became a magnet for the denizens that attempted to overwhelm the mind of the untrained or weak, fighting for a chance to return to the world of the light. _

_ Eventually, she made her way to the meadow. A tree, gigantic and filled with fragrant blossoms, had manifested before her. Between its roots, a woman made of light sat, cradling a baby in her arms. _

_ “Hello Mariel.” _

_ She should have been curious, should have asked questions, but all she felt was a sense of rightness, of grace, as she sank down in front of the pair, eyes fixed on the babe. She noticed then the tendril; a line of blue light extending from the child to her. She looked up, the question on her lips _

_ “Yes, this is your daughter.” _

_ Mariel extended her arms, and the spirit, for that was blatantly what the form was, gave over the child to rest against her breasts. She was amazed at the warmth of her, her child, that she could be anything else was inconceivable; eyes opened to expose vibrant blue with a molten core of amber, ears furled as her tiny fists curled and her soft cooing echoed through the branches above. The fire of her hair blazed bright, a tribute to the father who was lost. _

_ “She will not survive long in this place. She has no defence against the terrors that stalk behind the veil.” _

_ Mariel finally found her voice “What can I do?” _

_ “You must reach for her. Bolster her. I will do the rest.” _

**********************************

“I merged with her there, the spark of her essence was so small, so terrified, that I was unable to understand how she had survived that long. We floated, disembodied, I felt what she felt as she rested in me, and I showed her love.”

“And the spirit?”

“She disappeared. I have long suspected, but she has never manifested openly before.”

Solas spoke carefully, unwilling to provoke her further "She may have always been there, but there has been no need for her to draw on her power until now. It's possible that there is no separation between them, being unformed as she was."

“Well, shit. What do we do now?” Varric stood to the side, still next to Cassandra, who was looking decidedly dazed, “I don’t fancy trying to stalk Cole through the mountains, especially if all we’ll get for our trouble is a face full of magic.”

“Leliana, get your scouts on their tail, tell them to keep their distance, but I want to know if they make for our enemies. Josephine, keep your ear to the ground in the cities, if they show anywhere our influence runs, I want to know. Varric, Cassandra, Dorian, we still have our priorities; we leave at dawn for the Western Approach.”


	9. Sweet Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...  
>  My gleaming eye in your necklace reflects  
> Stare of primal regrets  
> You turn your back and you walk away  
> Never again  
> Spiralling to the ground below  
> Like Autumn leaves left in the wake to fade  
> away  
> Waking up to your sound again  
> And lapse into the ways of misery
> 
> The Drapery Falls: Opeth

Mariel was shown to a cot in the newly completed mage tower, her weapons handed to a manically grinning dwarf who scurried off like Saturnalia had come early. A quick study showed most of the mages here to be the same sort as she had spent her time in the circle with; fat and slow, easily cowed. They had gravitated to the Inquisition for lack of other direction. She had no doubt that they were useful, but they had spent too much time locked away to be truly independent now. The ones who had run, like her, were conspicuous; uncomfortable, aware that this was just another prison. Some were no doubt already planning escape should the Inquisitor hold to any idea of influencing the Chantry further.

 

The day had seemed endless, but the sun was only just westering, it would be an age until she could sleep, and be relatively sure Rina would be sleeping too. She had to find her, find out what had happened and then flee. When she had liberated her weapons of course.

 

Musing, she began to wander. The Inquisitor had not confined her, only disarmed her. She had however given Cullen a special charge to be vigilant; even now she could see the tail, casually chatting to a older man about Felandris while his whole body screamed he was watching her. He wasn’t very good, it seemed like Cullen was losing his touch she thought with a small snort.

 

She considered just walking up to the man, maybe give him some pointers, but it seemed silly to alert him to his failings, especially if Cullen had assigned him specifically. That did deserve further thought; an inept guard because it was all they had? Or to see if she would try to run? Several possibilities swam through her head, but she decided to leave it for now. Doubtless it would be best to leave any actual escape until she had a better idea of where things stood. And when the Inquisitor was several hundred leagues away.

 

**********************************

 

Valaria raged. Her chambers were usually messy, she never bothered asking anyone to tidy it or she risked never finding anything again, but now it looked like a grenade had been thrown in the room, with maybe a storm added to the mix. Furniture was smashed, hangings torn, cushions scattered every which way. Several bottles had been thrown at the walls, crimson wine dripping and puddling amongst the carnage. In the midst of it all, the Inquisitor screamed, the balcony doors shut to prevent the escape of her ire. Looking desperately for something else to destroy, she missed the head that poked up from the stairwell, until another bottle of wine detonated over it, showering her unwelcome visitor with shards of glass and bubbles.

 

“I suggest you tell Josephine that Dorian drank that one, they are rather expensive.” Cullen stood, glowering at her, hair plastered to his head as he gingerly picked the glittering shards from his body.

 

By this point Valaria had lost nearly all restraint, and to see one reason for her current temper broke something in her. “GET OUT!” she screamed at him, whirling to find anything to throw, anything to hurt him with, to ease the anger disgorging from her body like poison. When nothing came immediately to hand, it only fuelled her further, hands fisting, the green blaze leaking between her fingers as she advanced on him.

 

“Inquisitor…” Cullen didn’t understand. What had happened to the cool and calm woman he was used to seeing? Even when she’d been fighting for her life, even at Haven, he had not seen her like this, had never suspected she could lose control this way.

 

She hissed at the title “That. Is. Not. My. NAME!” Each word was delivered with a flare of light from her marked hand, causing him to flinch. Dammit he knew she hated her title, but surely trying to be more personal in this case would have been a mistake. As she began to stalk him, he moved instinctively towards the bed; the vague idea forming he could maybe swaddle her and calm her down?

 

“Valaria...talk to me. Please.” She could hear the soothers in his voice; it was not what she wanted. She wanted him to fight, wanted him to deny he had ever been between the legs of that bitch, that he had ever had any thought of her in his head, that he would ever go back to her…

 

With a strangled cry she lept at him, a knife appearing in her palm as she angled her strike to hit him in the thigh, a move she’d practiced over and over given the heavy armor of the Red Templars. Luckily, Cullen had seen her practicing enough that he saw the subtle shift and knew where she was heading. He threw his weight to the side and down, so all she achieved was to bruise her knuckles against the bulk of his chestplate. Swearing, she dropped the knife, and Cullen moved immediately, pinning her arms he threw her to the bed and straddled her, his sheer mass making it impossible for her to dislodge him. He let her rail, trying to ignore the curses that spilled from her lips, even now he was still enamoured, still wanted to kiss those lips into submission...a shift to the left was all the warning he got as she upended him, another knife appearing from her boot as she brought it to his throat.

 

Cullen allowed himself to go totally limp. His only defence now lay in her remembering she needed him. His body screamed for action, screamed at him to get up, to fight, to rid himself of the slight woman who was now holding a trembling knife just above his jugular.

 

“Get out.” Valaria turned, sinking down into the mess on the floor, groping for the ripped coverlet as she turned inwards, eyes downcast.

 

Cullen didn’t need telling a third time.

  
  


******************************************************

 

The party that left at dawn was small; Dorian grumbling about the early hour as he tried to fit more books in his saddlebags, Varric spouting random stories, Cassandra holding herself aloof (or trying to anyway). The Inquisitors Golden Hart was saddled and they were waiting but as yet the woman herself had yet to join them.

 

“Kaffas, what's keeping her! I did not get up at this ungodly hour to be stood up!” Dorians mouth pouted prettily, easily riled at any time, he was definitely not a morning person. “Ten more minutes and I’m going back to bed.”

 

Varric laughed, “I’m not sure Tiny would appreciate being woken again, Sparkler.”

 

“Shows what you know, dwarf, I am reliably informed that my wakeup calls are spectacular…” Dorian smirked as he let the image set in, Cassandra huffing in displeasure behind them.

 

A few more minutes stood idle in the cold and the Inquisitor made her appearance. Privately, Dorian thought she looked awful; her face was puffy and blotchy, eyes red, blond hair sitting like a birds nest under her hood. It was obvious she hadn’t slept well, if at all. He shouldered his pack and mounted, moving out he called back to the others, who stood with bemused expressions.

 

“I suggest we head out before we expire of old age.”

 

*************************************************************

 

The hold was quiet without the Inquisitor. Things still happened she observed, but at a more sedate pace now that the intense elf was away. Diplomats and nobles swathed in elaborate costumes spent less time in the halls as they retired to private quarters to while away the hours until the Inquisitor could treat with them personally. Some, perhaps those more wise, concluded their visits with Ambassador Montilyet and departed, unwilling to wait unprofitably for her return.

 

Such a delegation was preparing to leave, and Mariel was debating whether to insinuate herself among them, when she was waylaid by Sera. The elf was, among other things, filthy, in a way Mariel had never been, even when in the wilds she had always taken the time to maintain a basic level of hygiene.

 

To her credit, the elf really didn’t smell bad, she was just streaked with all sorts of miscellaneous substances. “Come on you, got someone who wants to see you.”

 

With that, she was dragged through the Great Hall, towards the imposing throne; she had seen the design in Kirkwall, odd that the Inquisitor should revive it here. They swung a right, through a little door that Mariel had never noticed before.

 

She found herself in what should rightly be called a cave, she thought, open to the wind, ice and water in equal measure flowing from the unseen heights above. Odd apparatus stood about, with bits and pieces of weapons and armor, as well as vast quantities of crafting materials. The odd dwarf, Dagna, she had learned her name was, was stood at a table, a strange collection of tools and runes strewn on it. In her hands, she held one of her Chakrams, and a melted knife of some sort.

 

“Look at this!” the girl was beaming, despite the piece of slag in her right hand “Remarkable!”

 

Mariel was wary, even she didn’t know all the enchantments on her weapons, or what they could do to those stupid enough to poke at them “Please be careful, they are irreplaceable to me.”

 

“They’re amazing! Look, I couldn’t even scratch it! I wonder what it’s made of?! Oh! How was it worked? It’s just a puzzle!”

 

Mariel observed she didn’t seem to need to stop to breathe, the questions all just flowed out in a jumbled heap.

 

“I’ll leave you two to it then, no funny business missy, I’ll catch you later, yeah?” Sera departed during a pause, casting a fond glance as the dwarf waved in her general direction and launched into a comparison against a traditional mages staff as a mana focus.

 

“So who exactly made these? The crafting is just unbelievable!”

 

*********************************

 

_Old stories, handed down from forgotten lore, images of proud Elvhenan wielding the bladed discs, the Chakrams. Her father had told her the stories, such things as were remembered in the Imperium, which was little enough to write off as a legend._

_He had himself never wielded a weapon, even his staff was unsuitable as anything other than a foci, much shorted than normal, more like a wand than not, delicate as his healing magics were; subtle in power but beautiful._

_She’d never thought much on his tales, thinking them fantasies the Imperium had imagined to justify the enslavement and torture of her elven forebears, but in Lowtown, in the Alienage, she had found a book. Merrill had shown it to her, glad to have someone even halfway Dalish to speak to, to understand more than the smattering of ritual that the city elves desperately tried to cling to._

_As soon as she saw the diagram in the ancient pages, she was consumed with the need to possess a pair; power and lethality inhibited only by the power of the smith that crafted them._

_She had thought hard on the enchantments, as there was limited space for the runes, which were engraved she saw, not set as was more normal. When all was decided, she knew of only one man who would be able to make them. The one man she had sworn to avenge, the one man who she was now too afraid to see, unable to face her failure again._

 

*******************************************************

 

The evening found her in the Rest, aware that she should be anywhere but here, that she could be asleep even now, searching for her daughter. Rina had so far eluded her in the fade, she caught echoes, just enough to convince her she was alive, and in no danger, but actual contact had been an unparalleled failure. Unable to move forwards, and with the days memories sitting heavy on her soul, she decided a drink was more than overdue.

 

She approached the bar, a surly dwarf wiping at it with a grimy cloth until it was dirtier, if that were possible.

 

“Do you have any wine?”

 

“I do, girl, but not for you. Inquisitors request, you’ve no tab here.” He painted a grin on his face, leering at her frustration.

 

“Cabot! Refill!!” Shouts and catcalls sounded from the back room as a huge shadow fell over the bar; The Iron Bull was looking down from his one eye, fixing the barkeep with a stare as he tapped his tankard on the bar. “Best give me...four flagons, three bottles of Star and a nice red and white, Dalish is feeling refined.” He flicked his gaze at Mariel, who was mouthing “rosé!” as the barkeeps back was turned. “And a sweet bottle of rosé for Krem,” he laughed as he gathered the drinks on a large tray and flipped several heavy gold coins into the waiting palm.

 

“Come on, lets see what you’ve got mage.” He led her to the motley group of mercenaries in the back room. Oddly, there were a few others seated on the fringes; Sera and Dagna holding hands over by the fire and none other than the Commander of the Inquisition was reclined, his boots up on a chair, chatting softly with Blackwall next to Bulls favorite chair. She’d never seen him chatting, it was almost incomprehensible that he ever unlaced himself enough to even breathe never mind about chat! The reason for Cullens present behaviour appeared soon enough however, as Bull deposited a full bottle of Star on the table beside his elbow. “No charge, Commander, just seeing you unwind is payment enough.”

 

Cullen smiled lopsidedly, pouring himself a generous shot he noticed the smaller form of Mariel behind the hulking form of Bull; the smile slid off his face “I thought you were supposed to be in the tower?”

 

“Yeah, thats a brilliant plan right about now. I’ll just take my wine and fuck off then should I?” Irritation won out over caution after her day, and damn, she just wanted to speak to people who didn’t care what she’d done, or who she’d done it to, or whatever the fuck he thought of her right now.

 

Cullen frowned, “No. You should leave the wine here. I recall a tendency to do questionable things when you’ve had a few Mar.”

 

The diminutive surprised her, even though he was obviously quite drunk, she didn’t think he’d want to be leading down that path again with what she’d been hearing.

 

“Leave off Cully Wully, she just wants to have a friendly drink with these dicks, ain’t that right?”

 

Mariel flashed a lewd grin around the tables “definitely…”

 

**************************************

 

The wine was long gone, the gentle buzz of it washed harshly away when Bull pulled her into his lap and forced a shot of Star down her. The whiskey burned like she’d swallowed a hot coal, it hit her stomach like a grenade, sending warmth throughout her body as she tipped back into the hard chest of the massive man.

 

“Fenedhis lasa!” The expletive roared out of her mouth, setting the others off to laughing as she reached for the bottle again. Getting the bottle to her mouth was another matter entirely; not only was Bull jiggling her with his laughter, but her hands seemed to have taken on a feeling of numbness, as though she was wearing massive gloves...like Cullens she thought, although he wasn’t wearing them now she noted, looking sideways at his handsome profile against the low lighting. In fact, he wasn’t wearing any of his armor, how had she not noticed it before? She could see how his muscles strained against the simple homespun tunic, more suitable on a squire that the Commander of armies! Her thoughts darted around, lingering on his hair, his hands, sweet mother his _thighs_ …

 

An excited squeal disturbed her drunken contemplation “Truth or Torture!” Sera screamed, bodily dragging Chargers upright and pushing them towards the table housing Bull.

 

“Really? I think I might call it a night.” Cullen made to stand, only to be pinned by Bulls massive hand.

 

“You said you’d take care, remember?”

 

The questions started coming then, she learnt more about the Chargers than she would have wished, especially seeing as most of them already knew all their truths and had no problems sharing with the world at large.

 

“Cully Wully, when was the last time you had a woman on top? Loosened those iron britches?”

 

“Torture” came the dark reply, earning a concerned glance from Bull, but he chose not to comment as Sera descended with a glass of Maraas-Lok.

 

Bull bounced the woman in his lap “What about you, Mar? When was the last time you had a good fuck?”

 

Rather more drunk than before the game began, she blurted out the first thing that occurred to her “what, by a man, or a woman?”

 

Sera looked stunned “I didn’t think you were into lady bits!”

 

“Just coz I’m not interested in your lady bits, don’t mean I can’t appreciate the finer things in life.”

 

“Either.” Bull qualified. Cullen just looked on, breath coming heavy as he saw it in his minds eye “makers breath” he whispered,

 

“well...it’s been a very long time, to be sure, there’s not many who would fancy a dalliance with a apostate after all…”

 

“Stop stalling!”

 

“Yes Sera, well, let me think...it was back in Kirkwall, when I could count on someone looking after Rina…”

 

Cullens breath suddenly stilled, Bull was sure of it, and what's more, Mariel picked it up too.

 

“The Hanged Man, to my shame, 9:39.”

 

“And? Man, or woman? Who?!”

 

Mariel hesitated slightly, “Woman. Pirate actually. Hell of a woman.”

 

***********************************

 

The game continued around them, and Mariel decided to get up and find the bathroom. As soon as she put weight on her legs however, it was evident that whiskey was really not the best drink, and she stumbled into Cullen, legs tangling as she went down.

 

Not much better himself, he hauled her out of the door with the intent of depositing her in a bed, preferably one that didn’t involve too many stairs. As he half carried, half dragged her along, he became aware of her sobs.

 

“Mar?” He stopped, and propped them up against a wall, where she immediately sank to the ground, sitting with her hands flopped between her legs, head down as she stuttered in elvish.

 

“Come on, you know I don’t understand you.”

 

“I lied.”

 

“Figured as much.”

 

“How’d you know?” She turned a teary eye towards him

 

“Well...the distinct lack of disease sort of gives it away, Mar. Isabella isn’t exactly known for her discerning nature...” She snorted at that, “...woman was incorrigible. She even had a go at Hawke. He had to throw her out of his house…” She trailed off, noticing the change in the Commander's bearing..”Cullen?”

 

“So, who was it,” he asked, “if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“I’m not sure you’d like the answer, Cullen.”

 

“Why? Was it Merrill? Or Varric?”

 

“Creators, no!” The thought of seeing Varrick naked sobered her a little, but not enough to stop the answer slipping out, quietly…”it was you…”

 

***************************************

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going in unexpected directions, maybe that's what drinking wine and writing does to me, man I don't know...


	10. Fire in the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I welcome this pain  
> beating down on me  
> Is it your eyes  
> that choose not to see?
> 
> All I would do  
> if only you knew  
> All of my trust  
> was given to you
> 
> Oh, please, this is what I can give  
> What else do you need from me?  
> I might be sick, broken, torn to pieces  
> So, whatever this is, this thing that now I've become,  
> you hate it so much, you keep on running from it  
> No matter the distance, no matter how,  
> no matter how far
> 
> I buried this hurt,  
> concealed in this heart  
> Go lock all your doors,  
> these cold steps will warm
> 
> Far; Coheed and Cambria

*******************

The fade was rough, unhewn as it pulsed around her, shifting painfully into myriad forms borne of a demented mind. She felt trapped, unable to move from the place where she had been deposited when sleep claimed her. Panic began to build, until her mouth was hanging open with silent screams, desperate not to attract a demon in her less than composed state.

After an interminable time, while nothing changed, her mind fractured, and she looked down on herself, pitying the writhing form who was currently tearing at its hair in the extremis of its terror. Flying upwards, the floating rocks reflecting the sullen light, she encountered light. Light that overwhelmed, that bled behind her closed eyes to sear her mind with fire. Red light, tinged with blue.

“Mother.” The light coalesced into a slight form, perfectly replicating the beloved form of her daughter.

“Not just the form, mother. I am your daughter, yet I am of this place also.”

Pleading eyes turned to her, willing her to understand, begging her to see the love there, to see the sweet girl she thought she knew.

“How can I trust you?” She noted they were still floating, far above the tumult that threatened her other form below.

“How can you not? Feel me mother, can you feel anything except my love? My hope?”

Rina snapped her fingers, and they descended, the tree more vast than she remembered, the woman of light now contained within the glowing body before her.

“I wished to explain, to make you understand. The mage surprised me. I did not expect to see someone of his ilk again, and it made me careless.”

Mariel did not answer, her thoughts running back and forth along a strand of light, from chubby folds of babyhood, to blazing blue eyes harnessing the raw power of the fade.

“I will live up to my name.”

****************************************

Mariel awoke with a start, gasping she gripped the coarse blanket that covered her, part of her mind already registering that she was not in the tower. Impressions from the night before, and her meeting in the fade, threatened to sweep her away. Creators, where was she? Trying desperately to calm her racing heart, she started to stand, only to stumble, a hand to her mouth as the room span. Down on one knee, she had the chance to see where exactly she was, the lower viewpoint affording her a vista of the smithy. What was she doing here? A quick glance around showed she was alone, and she was reasonably sure she had fallen asleep alone, or she would have encountered the other in the fade; physical contact made it an imperative.

Slowly, she made her way to her feet again, relief flooding her as she managed to stay upright this time. Murmuring to herself, she determined to head to the tavern. Surely someone there would have a hangover cure…

*************************************

Cullen was avoiding her. She was sure of it. No one followed her anymore. She spent her days helping mix potions, her nights drinking with Bull and the Chargers, with Sera dipping in sometimes when Dagna was absorbed with her craft. She felt useless, unable to influence a single thing about her life. She was not trusted, not consulted, she had no future except the vague hope that she would be able to see Rina again. Night after night, she drank herself into a stupor, trying to incite contact, but she never succeeded. She woke alone, loneliness eating at her as she saw others pairing off; Sera and Dagna were nigh inseparable, Bull entertained all and sundry while Doran was away, even Josephine was whispered to have a secret lover, one who left her flowers in the dark.

She was losing weight, her once shining hair hanging limp and brittle from its ties, robes catching on the sharp angles of her hips as her eyes slowly dulled.  

Cullen watched from a distance as she fell, her fire drowned in a tide of wine, and he cursed her, cursed himself, cursed everyone that he could not help her. He had no answers for her, was too ashamed of how he had treated her to give her comfort. Her confession had unnerved him. That her last memory of love had been him disgusted him. And he thought that he could possibly be worthy of the Inquisitor? His disgust turned inwards, the absent lyrium screaming from his veins, blue fire searing him from the inside out. His leadership suffering, his memory failing, he withdrew to his office, desperate for Cassandra to return and replace him.

Bull watched both descend into madness, and wished Dorian was back to help him snap them out of it.

*****************************

As the weeks passed, it became clear that the Inquisitor did not want to return; she called upon Bull and Vivienne, sending Cassandra and Varric back to Skyhold following a run of particularly vicious battles, in which both had been significantly injured. They arrived in a wain, the enforced idleness doing nothing for Cassandras famed temper. Cullen met them at the gate, his concern over their wellbeing almost overshadowed by his need for answers.

“What happened? Why does the Inquisitor remain in the field?” Cullen hovered over the wagon, as the healer descended into the bailey to give them a once over, proclaiming them satisfactory before warning Cassandra not to engage in any strenuous activity for at least a week.

Cassandra bit her lip, her head down as she prepared to swing her battered body out. The lingering pain and stiffness in her limbs only reinforced the healers words but Maker, she had hoped to hit the training dummies with all her strength as soon as she could.

“Seeker? Come on, Curlys hopping, we should really give him the story. Plus, I don’t think the dummies will disappear overnight.” Varric edged forwards, making to follow, the bandage against his flank visible under his tunic. He caught Cullen looking, his mouth slightly open, no doubt trying to imagine what had come so close to gutting him “Stalkers, curly. Everything will become clear, I promise. Some ale before we begin I think, a week on the road has left my tongue a little dry…”

************************

Half an hour later, they were safely ensconced in Josephines office, platters of food and flagons scattered here and there as they settled in. Leliana had appeared, but the rest of the inner circle was conspicuous in their absence.

“I thought that it would be beneficial to discuss these matters privately, until we know more of the situation.” Josephines cultured tones rang out at the unspoken question, she’d seen Varric glancing at the door, waiting to see who else was coming.

Leliana carefully undid a satchel, drawing out a mess of letters "These came from the Approach. Most singly, but a few came together, as though she didn't want anyone to notice the missing birds. Or maybe didn't want me to send anyone to you."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, she hadn’t even seen the Inquisitor sending a raven after the first week, she had done most of the correspondence, labouring in the dark to summarise their position with clumsy words, her pride too great to ask for help.

“What letters?” Leliana hesitated, before passing over the sheaf of parchment, the Inquisitors untidy scrawl clearly visible.

**********************

_Leliana,_

_We were a week on the road, and have just established our first camp. There are no people. Not even the prospectors and miners that would normally be drawn to such a place. We could fill a hundred wagons with crafting materials and hardly cause a dent._ _Harding has identified several tunnels and mines in the immediate area, as well as abandoned tools and goods. I am not sure what has happened to the people that left them behind._ _Tomorrow we will begin to investigate the immediate area, with a view to establish an advance camp overlooking the Approach proper._

 

_************_

_Gods but it’s hot here, make a note that any soldiers we send to this place need to be specially outfitted. Also, we saw a High Dragon overhead this morning, Dorian is not happy as he knows Bull will want to take him hunting if he finds out._ _The question of the missing people has been answered, at least in part; the Venatori presence here is far stronger than we anticipated, we’ve found evidence of slavers operating, though why they would spend the resources to do so out here baffles me. It’s possible that the Venatori just wanted no word of their presence to leak and sought to make a bit of coin on the side. Dorian points out that they could also be being kept for blood rites._

_We’ve taken out several nests, but the scouts report several large forces occupying various ruins._

_There have been sightings of rifts, nothing we shouldn’t be able to handle though._

_**********_

_We took out a rift first thing, the demons, particularly those of Despair, seem drawn to the mark. I do not recall this being so before, I will have to speak to Solas on my return if it remains an issue._

_There is a mad Orlesian here, the only person not of the Venatori that we have yet encountered; his name is Frederick, and he is obsessed with dragons. He has asked me to aid in his studies, trouble is I’m not sure how upset he will be when we inevitably kill the beast. Given the rest of the work to do, I think we’ll leave this for the time being._

_I would write more, but I find myself weary, closing the rift today must have took more out of me than I guessed._

_**************_

_Leli, I dreamt last night. I dreamt I was a little girl again. There was a golden man, but he wouldn’t show his face. I cast myself on the ground before his feet and raged, until the despair demons found me. I know Cass won’t write to you of this, but I am afraid. I think the mark is becoming unstable._

_We took a small fortification today, mainly ruined, but it is situated centrally and gives a good vista of the surrounding dunes. A rift had formed barely after we had taken it, I know we are all feeling exhausted._

_There is a large keep, I can see it in the distance, and it’s crawling with Venatori. Cass urges to send for reinforcements, Varric is all for letting it be, Dorian, uncharacteristically, has remained quiet on the subject. I will sleep on it and make a decision in the morning._

_Please tell Solas to begin researching. There were rage demons drawn this time too._

_*************_

_We begin our approach to the fortress today. Sleep brought no rest, only resolve. I will crush the Venatori despite the reservations of my team._

_*************_

_The fight was harder than anticipated. The only saving grace now seems to be that any demons the mages called forth were drawn to me, leaving Cass and Varric to face down the Venatori. I am sending them home. Please send Bull and Viv out in their place. We have a dragon to hunt. Maybe if I keep busy, I will not dream._

_Oh, we need a squad out here to man the keep. Griffon Wing, it’s called. Nasty place, the aptly named Death Drink Springs is upwind of us, make sure anyone you send here can hold their stomach._

_**********_

_The golden man. How he haunts me, Leli, how he hates me. The demons come in waves at his call. I feel it all. Despair so great I can’t breathe. Horror of the decisions I made. The fear that I have become a monster. But greater than all is the rage. Why won’t he look at me? He torments me for his own pleasure I swear. Every night I drown, bitter water dragging me under. I have resolved not to sleep. I know you want me to come back. But I can’t. The very thought of returning, of bringing my demons back with me, sickens me. I do not want the Golden man to sully my home, or somehow bleed into the dreams of others._

_I couldn’t bear it...I’ve already caused too much pain…_

_tell them, tell him, I’m sorry..._

**********

Cassandra sat up and pushed her hair back from where it was escaping her braid, passing the letters to Cullen. Her heavy sigh punctuated the silence. “She told me nothing. I knew she was sleeping badly, but this? Something must have happened to trigger it. Does Solas have any answers?”

Leliana looked away from Cullen, who was reading the letters now, muttering to himself, his brows drawing down as his frown became more and more pronounced as he neared the end.

“No. He claims he must examine the Inquisitor directly in the fade, which requires him to be close by, or bound by blood to her.”

“So send a bloody bird and get her home!” Cullens voice came out harsher than he anticipated, reddening, he rubbed at his neck, a habit that they all knew.

“You underestimate me Commander, do you think I would have let this go on for any longer than necessary? I anticipate the return of the Inquisitor very soon, provided Bull did his job.”

“You got Tiny to agree to strap her up and bring her home? With a dragon out there? Are you insane?”

“I prefer the term expedient, Master Tethras. And yes, he agreed. After all, the Dragon seems to be particularly attached to that area. I’m sure when the Inquisitor is feeling herself again, they can go hunt it to their hearts content.”

**********************

Cullen was used to nightmares, his whole adult life he had been plagued by them. This time it was different; a whole panoply of demons had materialised in his normal nightmare, each bearing a part of the Inquisitor. Despair demons had dragged her limbs behind them, frozen solid, her left arm missing the marked hand. A fear demon had followed with her torso, blood flowing sluggishly from the gaping hole in the chest. A sloth demon, languid behind its brethren, swung her head from its claws, the hair tangled in its fist, blues eyes open and staring, dead eyes still seeming to see him, mouth hanging slack, a rivulet of blood escaping the lips. Cullen had run, desperate to awaken, desperate to deny the sight he skidded to a stop as his pride demon rose, the marked hand strung like a trophy around its thick neck. The green flare still arced out, reaching for its severed parts as the demon shook the world with hideous laughter, as the rage demon came, bearing the beating heart of Valaria on its open palm…

He had awoken with his screams mingling with the bugle call; the single long blast signalling the return of the Inquisitor. Grabbing clothing, not bothering with his armour, he had dressed hurriedly and untidily. Without stopping to attend to his hair, he bolted from his office to meet the party now approaching the gates.

He’d known it was bad when he saw her Golden Hart, bereft of its rider, tethered to the wagon moving slowly along the bridge. As it came closer, he could see the rhythmic pulsing against the cover, green light spilling through the gaps in the weave.

Moaning in elvish, the Inquisitor screamed weakly when she was lifted from the bed of the wain. Cullens heart stopped as he looked on; he barely recognised the woman before him. Swaddled and swathed in bandages, healing potions daubed thickly on exposed skin, her hair burnt away, a blue eye turned to red, limbs lying at odd angles under the dressings.

Rounding on Bull, he noticed he sported several small burns, as did Dorian and Vivienne, but none had taken a beating like Valaria.

Breathing through his nose, trying to calm himself, he asked the question; “What in the Makers name happened to her?”

***************************

The Inquisitor, it transpired, had awaited them at the Nazaire camp, near to where the Dragon had made its lair, her intent to claim its head after a night of rest. Bull had agreed, with the thought that they could set off to Skyhold in the morning, as they had been travelling all day to reach the camp. During the night, the scouts raised an alarm; a pale figure had been seen leaving the camp, with no armour, a single knife in hand. A bugling roar had them running, along with a horde of dragonlings, down the pass to the great expanse of sand, silver in the moonlight as the burning form of the Inquisitor stabbed again and again at the now still form of the dragon. The belt at her waist had finally melted from her form under the assault of the flames, and she dropped to the sand, spent and screaming.

Bull and Vivienne took care of the remaining dragonlings while Dorian attempted to soothe the burns. He could see the charred remains of the belt that had been the only thing keeping her from death; a gust of wind tore at it, scattered the ashes to the sky. Calling forth ice, he had carefully cooled the Inquisitor, and tipped potion after potion down her throat until her screams subsided to whimpers and a great shuddering overtook her body.

“Why, Val? Why would you do this?”

Her eyes opened, the blue now overtaken with the red of haemorrhaging on the left, the skin cracked and blistered as she smiled at him “The Golden Man asked it of me. I am going home to him. He told me so.”

***********************

They had kept her under with potions and tinctures, but even so, the sounds that escaped the healers cottage tore at the air. Mariel had been called to help, her small store of healing magic enough to allow respite to the surgeon and healer that had temporarily put aside their differences and teamed up to provide as much knowledge and care as possible to the wounded elf. No one wanted to be around should they fail.

Cullen paced, any pretence of sanity eroded now as she languished in that small room, the smells and sounds when they changed the dressings settling like a miasma on his soul. He would not leave her, never again, he swore it to himself, over and over. He had given no thought to anything other than her, sleeping hunched in the corner he dreamed of her, even the burning need for the blue had been eclipsed. Mariel helped him when she could, though she was exhausted, the constant healing spells draining her depleted mana.

She had managed to drag him onto a pallet, and threw a blanket over him as she took a chair, determined to keep a steady flow of healing she snuck a lyrium potion from under her robes. Cullens nose twitched but otherwise he was quiet she saw. Settling herself, she drew several glyphs to keep the mana flowing, even should she fall asleep it would last a few hours at least, long enough for the healer mage to relieve her.

The night was still, silent. the rest of the hold slept, despite the worry for the Inquisitor, few outside the inner circle knew the extent of her injuries. The broken limbs had been set, and would heal clean, the bloody eye was slowly receding, but some of the burns were taking longer to heal. The arm, shoulder and leg on the left had fared the worst, the skin raw and angry. The other burns were healing well under the constant ministration of balms and ungents but Mariel was worried about the deeper ones. The surgeon was terrified; the woman was sure the wounds would become infested with disease; she had seen it before; the skin pitting and yellowing, pus filled, followed by burning fever and shaking that eventually killed the patient. Mariel just hoped that the elf pulled through. There were already reports of rifts reopening in previously safe places. The longer the threat of Coryphius remained, the more rifts would open, she was sure of it.

Slipping under, she saw the shades of both Cullen and Valaria, each was curled tight, she wondered what was in their dreams this night. Moving forward, she was halted by an unseen wall; it allowed her to see them, but not to touch, so she could not enter the fade as they saw it.

“You can not help them.” A male voice, familiar but filled with unknown power, echoed through her head.

Reflexively she shied away, a giant wolf striding towards her, slipping through the barrier as though it were water. On it’s shoulder sat the child of light, her Rina, her hand lightly coiled in the fur of the great grey beast.

The light that was Rina inclined her head towards the sleeping forms “They exist now in a dream within a dream. My friend here will lead them to better places, while we talk.”

The wolf turned again, its form wavering in the shimmering barrier, until a man stood, a man of the people, but she could not see his face or detect any features, but she was sure she had seen him before.

“Mother, I have news, if you would hear it.”

 *************************


	11. Plans in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't remember me but I remember you  
> I lie awake and try so hard not to think of you  
> But who can decide what they dream?  
> And dream I do...
> 
> I believe in you  
> I'll give up everything just to find you  
> I have to be with you to live, to breathe  
> You're taking over me
> 
> Have you forgotten all I know  
> And all we had?  
> You saw me mourning my love for you  
> And touched my hand  
> I knew you loved me then
> 
> Taking over Me; Evanescence

Plans in the dark

***************************

A snap of the fingers took them to the tree but she could see immediately that something was wrong. The blossoms that had filled the air with scent led brown and slimed on the barren earth, the leaves yellowing in the scabrous light cast from an unseen sun. Ruptures on the trunk leaked viscous fluid, glinting as it flowed slowly to pool between the roots. Mariel looked away in revulsion before she could decide if it was in fact what it looked to be. 

“Blood. Yes. My power fades from this place; without nurture, it anchors to you, and your actions…”

Mariel looked at the girl, what did she know? She’d left her, like everyone else in this thrice cursed world, her parents, her lover, her friends; “So the dream tree is puking blood because I’m a drunk? That’s what you’re saying?” Creators she should just wake up, leave the stinking carcass of the tree and forget everything. Maybe she could get into Cullens stash, burn away her mind, forget the life fleeing from Maddoxs eyes, forget the butchered forms of her parents, forget it all.

Rina read most of this on her face, she knew it. Never before had she wished she could hide from what she birthed, never before had she had cause to.

“It dies because you have lost all hope.” Abruptly she span, embracing the stiff form of her mother she whispered; the words floating on the air like motes in the sunlight “I said I would live up to my name; watch.” Letting go, Rina began to dance, a simple reel, beautiful and fluid as she bent her body in time to a music that Mariel could not hear. Something tickled her leg. Looking down, she saw a field of white fluttering in time to the dance, rising they made figures, brief outlines of forms saw for just an instant before shifting again. Faster and faster they moved, forms of templars and demons, huge crusted figures she could not place, humans and elves and those of the Qun, great horns softened by flowers. There was even the shaky form of a dragon, in full flight, flaming all before it. Blowing apart, the blossoms whirled, pressing close to kiss her skin they took flight again, before condensing into a single figure, holding the form, letting her see, letting her know…

“Blessed Mythal...can it be? Can it be true?”

After a long moment, a fire caught, burning the petals to ashes. Rina sank, exhausted, tears running down her face “There is hope, for now. Hope that the fire will not catch. Tell your spymaster to look to the Graves. We will keep searching.” 

“We? Are you still with Cole? Where are you?” 

“Here and there, we’re tracking the red, tracking the pain. Cole can hear them, he helps them. Lets them sleep and then they’re free. They come here, pass through, and are gone.” 

A howl rent the air, slowly the great wolf stalked into sight, powerful muscles bunching under the grey fur. There was a curious duality about him, obviously one of the Somniari, able to affect the very fabric of the fade in colossal upheavals or delicate intrusions. Dangerous did not describe the beast before them. Strange that he kept to his animal form and did not revert to the elven man she had so briefly seen. 

“They sleep quietly now.” His voice, sonorous and again, annoyingly familiar, washed over her as she puzzled. 

“Will the Inquisitor recover?” Mariel caught herself wringing her hands, an old habit developed at the circle, one she had never been able to banish. Forcing herself to stillness, she repeated her question as the wolf and the girl were stood eye to eye, gazes locked.

“Physically, she will take little time to heal. Her spirit however, I am unsure. This business of the Golden Man concerns me. I have not seen him, though it seems likely he is a demon, attracted to her pain, feeding off her somehow. That he does not actively seek to possess suggests there is more at work. It seems to be trying to drive her to take her own life. Possibly the mark prevents full possession, although she will turn on us if she surrenders to him.” 

“May the Dread Wolf strike him down!” In her anger she missed the flash that surged through his eyes “What can we do? How do we protect her? Without her mark we are all doomed!” 

“You may be doomed because of it. She needs rest. Comfort. Reassurance. Wards need to be placed every night to try and prevent the demon gaining ground.”

“What about the Commander?” She remembered how he had looked when they brought the Inquisitor in, he was barely holding on, any wrong move could send him screaming over the edge too. 

“He will heal, once he accepts his heart.”

“Hahren, I bow to your judgement.” RIna shimmered, light visible through her as she faded “keep them safe, old wolf.”

The wolf bowed, front leg extended as he dipped, a sight she never would have thought she would see from the proud creature, never mind she had only just encountered his presence tonight. “Go in peace, da naur len.” A flare of light blinded them, the wolfs words in her ears telling her to wake up.

 

*************

Cullen awoke, more rested than he had in what seemed an age, his dream, an actual dream! reverberating in his head like a symphony. Blue eyes fell on him and he reddened, wondering if he had spoke in his sleep. Maker, he hoped not, he wanted to hold onto it, not share it with anyone, relive it over and over until he died, drowning on a tide of sweet kisses taking him down into oblivion…

“Good dreams, Commander?” Mariel, her eyes more carefree than yesterday, the line of worry between her brows that had threatened to become a permanent fixture, now smoothed. 

Cullen blushed even more, if it were possible, mumbling something unintelligible he stood, noting Valarias breath was slow and even, not hitching with pain as it had been this past week. Her colour was good, a slight blush on her cheeks only slightly marred by the still present burns. 

“Do you think she will wake today?” 

“I live in Hope, Cullen, as do we all. Ah, here comes the surgeon!” Turning, she watched the woman enter the cottage, bringing a basket of sweet bread and a bottle of juice she urged them to take breakfast as she checked on her charge. Snagging several slices as offerings, she slipped out of the door and headed towards the rookery. 

************

“Tell me you are joking.” Sister Nightingale was picking at the bread with her long fingers, flicking crumbs to the floor for the voracious rooks that leapt and flew throughout the upper levels of the tower. 

Mariel eyed the woman speculatively, this had seemed so much easier when contemplated in a dream. 

“Your possessed daughter has contacted you in the fade and provided information as to the whereabouts of your previously thought to be deceased lover. Who may be able to help us defeat a Darkspawn Magister from the dawn of time.” 

Leliana looked at her coldly “Have you been reading Varrics books, or have you finally had so much to drink that it has completely unhinged you?”

Swallowing the anger on her tongue, she took a deep breath before replying, striving to keep her words even, light.

“What harm can it do to look? I know you’ve got scouts everywhere anyway, can’t you just ask them to search?

“And what if it’s a trap? What if she lures the Inquisition, or Maker forbid, the Inquisitor, into a situation we can not escape? The area is heavily compromised by Corypheus’s forces, there are reports of a Dragon to the West, and you want me to waste our resources chasing after a Tranquil?” 

Mariel reeled as though slapped. The hope that had been so bright was fading, twisting into a familiar bitterness. She would never see him again. 

***********************


	12. Poisoned recollections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried to kill my pain  
> But only brought more  
> So much more  
> I lay dying  
> And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal  
> I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming  
> Am I too lost to be saved?  
> Am I too lost?
> 
> "Tourniquet" Evanescence
> 
> ***********************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> triggers for suicide and ptsd x   
> I'm sorry I haven't properly updated this fic in a while, I'm hopefully back up and running now. Comments/suggestions would be appreciated greatly, this is getting much larger in scope than I ever envisioned x

Valaria came to slowly, swimming up from dark depths she floated, resting in a fog of memories. Memories which were not her own. Unable to panic, she reviewed the thoughts that had been given her. Places her body had never been assaulted her senses, faces she had never seen whirled together in patterns too large for her to comprehend. She spied a familiar form; there! Cullen, resplendent in full armour, his helm carried under his arm as he strode towards her, his face set in hard lines, his lip unscarred, opening, forming words as hard as his face 

“I thought I told you to remain inside.”

She heard herself speaking, voice sultry with displeasure, “I was bored, Cullen, there is only so much a girl can take you know. I thought only to take a turn around the docks.”

“Meredith is hunting apostates again. It isn’t safe. If you were anyone else…”

“Yes, yes, if I were anyone else I’d be a drooling vegetable locked in a cell while the other mages looked on in terror. We’ve been through this. I’m dead, remember?” 

Mariels memories then! The viewpoint shifted, revealing a dirty collection of houses, ramshackle and haphazard, set around a sickly looking tree. 

“Stupid, willful girl! Maddox identified you, directly to me, in front of the whole command! Why in the name of the Maker did you go near the Gallows?! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Hawke can’t protect you now! You know damned well he’s got his own problems right now!”

She felt the borrowed body stop, felt it shaking, panic rising, laced through with betrayal. “How did he know? I look different, sound different, I’ve even changed the way I walk to avoid the hunters.” 

“The Tranquil don’t forget anything Mar, you know that! He reported straight after he had finished making those abominations you call weapons...you’re damn lucky he waited until then.”

“Why are you surprised? It wouldn’t make any sense to have me arrested before I’d paid for my wares.” Her chest heaved a great sigh. “Just when I thought I was getting somewhere with him too, I’d finally convinced him to say my name…”

“Just how many times have you been out of here, exactly? Why am I paying for board if you won’t stay?” He was in her face, his own reddening as his anger took hold “Do I need to chain you to have you remain?”

Her own anger rising, a tide of magic building under the skin, so close to boiling over, always so close, she willed herself to stop, words spilling out of her mouth “You think to chain me Cullen? No chain that you could ever use is as heavy as the one I wear every fucking day. That’s why I remain. It doesn’t mean I have to stay in this shithole. I need a life Cullen, or what was the point of it all? I might as well come back to the Gallows right now and have Meredith scoop out my brains. Fade, I might even be happy about it.” 

Flickers of half formed expressions showed on his face as he pushed her into the building. It was a spartan affair; a sagging cot with a thin mattress, a rickety table and stool and a chamber pot were the only items of furniture in sight. A stench lingered, it pervaded the whole neighbourhood, rotten and damp from the tide. 

“Is it so wrong for me to want to protect you? Do you know how I felt? When I saw you dead?” The words were out before he’d had time to think, before he could take them back.

“Technically wasn’t but…”

“No! You don’t get to talk. I thought you’d died. You were my responsibility. I thought you’d killed yourself! Carver was beside himself, I was blamed, Orsino, Meredith, they all blamed me for not watching you closer.”

“Do you know how close I came to killing you when I saw you again? All I saw was an apostate, here in my city, bloodstains on your robes, skulking in the shadows.” 

Some of the anger was gone, leaving behind a confused tangle of emotions that she couldn’t pick through “What stopped you?” 

“You looked up. Turned your head and stared me right in the eyes. And I knew. Knew it was you. So I ran. I thought you were a spirit, come to take me.”

“I remember! I thought it was just some recruit, that you'd gone to get reinforcements! I ran to the clinic to hide with Anders...if you thought I was a spirit, why did you seek me again, after that night?” 

“Spoke to Carver, obviously, he’s really not very good at lying, you better hope Meredith never asks him about you. He spilled it all, said that you needed some place to stay that wasn’t involved with his brother…”

“So you chivalrously spend your coin on me. Why Cullen? I could work, pay my own way, get out of here!” She lept up, pacing around the room, agitation jumping in her, already wanting to get out, maybe go to the Hanged Man, play a few rounds with Izzy, if Hawke hadn’t made off with her. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cullen looked like he was fighting a losing battle, Maker the woman was stubborn. “I shall repeat myself once. Meredith knows you are alive. She is hunting for you. She means to make an example of you, before she loses any more control. The things that are happening Mar, it almost seems that Kinloch was better.”

“There’s a clan nearby. I think you should go to them, get away from this place.”

“I can’t leave. I need to keep Maddox safe!” Her thoughts whirled, she couldn’t go to the clan, she’d lead the hunters right to her daughter, and if Cullen found out about Nuarina…

“There is nothing for you here, Mar. Nothing but a certain death. Hawke can’t keep you safe. I can’t keep you safe, not if you won’t listen to me.” 

“I made a promise. Her head. I swore it! I will have my revenge, Orsino and Meredith both!” 

“What good is revenge, when it will do nothing to bring back the man you love? He remembers nothing, Mariel. Has no feelings of love, or friendship, or warmth. He’s not worth dying for! Why can’t you see that?”

His hand, large and calloused, captured the tears that slipped silently down her cheeks “I don’t want to watch you die, Mar, please. You must leave.”

*********************************************

Emotions surged through her body, hurt, anger, confusion. She fought for consciousness, fought the drugs still lingering in her system. Her eyes flickered as she moaned. She could feel the tears on her cheeks. Why? Why had she inherited this knowledge? She didn’t want it, didn’t want to know the details of their relationship. The fact that it happened at all was wounding enough. Now it seemed that she was doomed to see it all lived out in exact detail in her mind! 

How could she face Cullen again, when she had accepted the truth? 

The truth that she loved him? Ot that she hated him?

Speak of a demon and it shall appear; as she finally opened her eyes, she was greeted by his scar, drawn in a grimace of worry. Groaning, she half closed her eyes again. Too much, too soon. Another memory inserted itself; superimposed above her, that scarless lip marring the face she knew as he came closer...she could feel his breath and couldn’t tell if it was the memory, or reality. A scent of honey and lemons swept over her, memory then, they had not the resources for lemons in Skyhold. She found herself disappointed before anger pushed the feeling away. Flushing, she pushed herself up, noting the weakness as she almost fell back to the bed, she saw that Cullen had retreated somewhat, but she saw how he had started forwards, almost as if he wanted to catch her. Like she’d ever permit that. 

“Commander. How long have I been gone?” 

There was a strange look in his eyes she thought, a glimmer. He looked thinner than she remembered, the tan of his skin retreating into pallor. 

“Inq...My Lady, it has been a week, we, I, we thought you lost.” She noted with a flinch the way he abstained from her title. His replacement was little better but it shamed her that he felt he needed to. The memory of his wine soaked hair, of the hurt in his eyes, the fear, that she had caused it was unbearable…

“Cullen.” He started, she’d never used his name before. “Cullen, I’m sorry. It was inexcusable. There is no way for me to justify my actions. I should have never have…” the tears were back, pushing at her control, the air burning in her throat as it constricted.

He moved to sit by the bed, concern showing in every move.

“shh, My Lady, I don’t blame you. I know what you’ve seen, what you’ve endured. I know it festers. I know the fear, the pain, it takes on a life of its own, seeks to crush you unless you fight it.”

“Why do I fight Cullen? I can’t see the reason anymore. The more I fight, the more I become like him, a monster, drowning in blood, so much blood, it follows me everywhere!” Her feet jerked, reflexively seeking to run, the blood becoming a tide, her thoughts unlocking yet more memories, these her own, templars, mages, beasts, all falling to her bow and daggers, until she wanted to scream. 

Cullen looked at the trembling elf, wanting to hold her, fearing it would make things worse. He compromised by taking her hand; the mark flared through his fingers as her eyes found him 

“...why do I fight?”

**************************************


	13. All I wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I'm going to stop with the songs...it's a bit worn out now I think, though I hope that I have given you guys a few new things to listen to? 
> 
> Triggers for alcohol abuse
> 
> Some little sexy times too :)
> 
> *********************

Mariel fled the tower, hardly seeing the people in her way as she pushed past, desperate to be alone, to lose herself again, before the pain tore her apart. Wine. She needed wine. Or better, whiskey. Gods, even ale would be welcome. She didn’t stop to think of the inevitable as she darted through the cellars, intent only on snagging whatever she could, as quickly as she could.

She didn’t see the slender form following her until she reached the outside stairs, his deft fingers plucking the bottles from her hands while he barrelled her out of the door.

“What the fu...Dorian? What are you doing?”

Her prize had disappeared behind the kitchen door, her shoulders slumping as she realised she’d intended drinking whiskey at ten in the morning. What was she doing?

Dorian held her at arms length, her hair was snarled, falling out of its braid, her robes were stained, her sunken eyes wary.

“Helping, apparently. Let me show you the wondrous baths, madame, not a patch on home I’m afraid, but we all have to make sacrifices.”

He dragged the woman to the bath house, commandeered a room and found several products suitable for her. A good thing about being a mage he thought, was the utter privacy of being able to draw a hot bath without having servants under foot, he didn’t know how anyone stood it. Not exactly conducive to relaxation. After he got the water flowing and hot, he turned to see that she hadn’t moved an inch from the spot he’d unceremoniously dumped her. She was obviously far further gone than even Bull suspected.

Gently he turned her and tugged at her robe. Meeting no resistance he pulled it off her, careful not to break the fine chain around her neck,drawing in a sharp breath at the bones he saw shifting beneath the skin. He guided her into the water, ready to catch her if it was too much. His own experiences were warning enough of the dangers, the last thing he wanted was for her to faint on him.

A small noise escaped her lips, it sounded like a sigh as her eyes slipped closed and she reclined further into the tub.

“thankyou…”

**********************************

Later, Dorian cornered Bull in the tavern, his intention to have answers about Mariels habits while he’d been away. She’d opened up to him, a little, after he’d helped her with her hair, which was frankly more like a patch of vines; he’d spent what seemed like forever getting all the knots out, he’d even trimmed the dry and splitting ends for her. He thought it did wonders but he was still worried about her. He’d told her to get some dinner while he spoke with Bull.

“She’s a mess Bull, and now I hear that she’s been in here, every night before the Inquisitor came back? I thought you Ben-Hassrath were supposed to be good at reading people?! Why didn’t you stop her?”

Bull looked down at the angry mage, feeling a surge of lust that was definitely not appropriate in the situation. He ruthlessly tamped it down, storing it up for later.

“She’s a grown woman, I couldn’t exactly stop her.”

“Yes, yes you could! You know Cabot won’t serve her! The only way she was getting it was through you…” Even as he said it, he knew he was partly wrong, there were many bottles stashed in the Hold, not a few of them in his own room.

“And how long would it have been until she went somewhere private, somewhere we couldn’t see? How long until she fell from the ramparts, or got into the undercroft and drank something of Dagnas? Me and Cullen could watch her here at least.”

Dorian huffed, the big lout made a good point, but still, they should have done something.

“From now on, small ale only, with meals. No wine, no beer, and definitely no whiskey. Juices and teas the rest of the time. Make her eat, even the disgusting things Cabot calls food are good, at least they have plenty of bulk in them, all that pastry…”

“I’m not a nurse, why are you giving this to me?”

“Because you know the symptoms Amatus, better than most. And you nurse very well, I might add.”

Dorian waggled his eyelashes at the Qunari, earning a snort of laughter before the big man turned serious again

“You still drink too much Kadan…”

He watched unhappily as the mage slipped out, wondering how and when he had come to care so much about an Altus mage from Tevinter.

*****************************

Leliana approached the War Room with some trepidation, by now the Inquisitor was well enough to get up and see to some of her duties, although she tired easily, and her temper had on several occasions swelled into arguments.

She glanced to Josies desk, noting it was empty, also noting the vase of flowers nestled among the papers there. A small smile graced her lips, Acacia. How he had ever managed to get it up here without wilting was a mystery.

Moving through the corridor, she paused before the doors, hearing only the murmured sound of voices she entered, and stopped, surprised to see Dorian present. The mage looked up at her entrance, a small frown resting on his face as he held out the papers in his hand.

“Captured correspondence. From the Western Approach.”

She scanned the missives quickly, noting with a sinking feeling the pointers to the Emerald Graves. Andraste’s Grace but she’d cut down the woman without a second thought, and now the proof was here that she was right? She knew she was sharp and to the point, her words able to cut through to the heart of things with little thought to the feelings of those involved. Cold, many called her, but that was just her, the innocence lost long ago, buried and then torn away by circumstances beyond her control. She’d made her peace with that, the knowledge that she was the best at what she did bolstering her when she sat lonely amongst the birds, her beautiful voice silent. Still, it would not do for the Inquisitor to find out that she had been wrong. A quiet apology then, direct to the source, with an invitation to share the scouts findings?

“I can divert more scouts to the region...assess the situation further, no?”

“Well that’s settled. When can I start training again? Damn healer still keeps looking at me sideways -”

“Inquisitor, your injuries were severe -”

“Damn it Commander, I’m fine! I just want to get back in the field.”

“Val, if I may make a suggestion?”

Valaria looked at Dorian, who had been silent since Lelianas entrance “Yes?”

“Well...we do have another, hmm,” convalescent was what was in his mind, but he wasn’t stupid enough to test her with that “person that would benefit from a gradual increase in intensity?”

“Details please Dorian.”

“Ah yes, well, Mariel has been...unwell...while you have been out in the field. Nothing serious, though she has not been able to practice for some time.”

“Well seeing as I had her weapons impounded I should think not...what did you have in mind?”

Dorian tapped his teeth, contemplating. It would be good for her to train against the kind of attacks Cullen described using the twin rings, but the usefulness would be limited due to the uniqueness of the weapons.

“I think a staff would be most appropriate, more suitable to what you would experience normally from a mage. Perhaps, should you wish for her to demonstrate with the rings -” 

“Absolutely not!” Cullen blanched white at the thought “it's far too dangerous for the Inquisitor, Mariel has little control at the best of times…”

“You spoil all my fun, Commander. All right. Scouts to the Graves. Commander, schedule me in for training, preferably when there will not be recruits around to gawp at my less than satisfactory form if you please. Now unless there is anything else?”

Cullen hung back as the others filed out, his blush in place even before speaking.

“My lady…”

Valaria looked up from the war table, a smile on her lips as she noted his reddening face

“Cullen?”

She heard the breath whoosh out of his lungs, she tried to think if she had used his name before, the memories swirling in her mind making it difficult to separate her truth from Mariels. It made her bold. Glimpses of skin, silken on fingertips, the music of bodies, the sighs and groans and slap of skin filtered through her consciousness. Her eyes closed of their own volition, head tipping back, lip caught between her teeth as she concentrated on the pooling heat between her thighs. A small cough brought her back to reality with a thump

“My lady, are you well?” He was closer she saw, hovering just in front of her, close enough to touch, if she so desired...and Creators, how she desired. Desired to feel for herself the skin of his chest, of his arms, the stubble on his cheeks, the scar on his lip...moans rang through her mind, echoed from her mouth

“just, just a headache, nothing more, Commander.” She backed up, trying to get control. He was her advisor. If she didn’t have these memories, if she wasn’t so weak, she wouldn’t be feeling this way. _Liar_ came a voice, deep inside. _You would feel all this, and more, the memories but show you the way_.

“was there something you needed?”

“I wanted to show you something, actually.” Turning, he led her through the doors, out through the Great Hall, past its complement of annoying, posturing nobles, and out into the garden.

Valaria looked with curiosity at the table set there, in the middle of the courtyard. Plans were set down, weighted with stones against the light wind. Looking closer, she could see several designs, with notations in Cullens elegant script. The first was heavily inspired by the Chantry, she thought, noting similarities between the figures on the page and her memories of Havens sanctuary. It left her cold, the Shemlens god held little for her, although she was aware of most of the keeps devotions. The second seemed dedicated to growing herbs and such. It was functional, but sparse. The third, well, it was a synthesis of styles, looked like Cullen had just pulled down all the books on Elven lore and mixed it with his own imagination. Plants ran riot everywhere, statues poking through the foliage, figures from the Pantheon, Andraste, animals both real and legendary. It was, she thought with fondness, simply everything she would want from a garden, if they had ever had the time to achieve it.

He caught her looking at the last design, her face rapt, a small smile tugging at her ruby lips. It was sweet, how she was so absorbed in his work, he could almost forget the look on her face in the war room…

“I thought you might like to help me create it...Valaria…” He chanced it, wanting to see if he’d imagined the way her pulse had fluttered as her head fell back. He knew it was wrong, she was his Inquisitor, placed on a pedestal, high above a mere man like him, but he couldn’t help himself.

Creators, the way he said her name, rolled it around his mouth and dropped it from his lips, sinful and low, she grasped the table, hard, aware of the damage she had already inflicted on him. Her mind turned dark as she remembered. Still, she couldn’t help the feeling in her breast as she replied;

“I’d like that, very much.”

*********************************  
She’d left him to his plans with a few soft words, and bolted to her quarters. She felt fevered, shivering and hot by turns, a fluttering in her stomach like she’d missed a step. Shaking she fell onto her bed and let the memories come; a stream of images imprinted against her eyelids, she felt them burning her to the core. Cullen, naked, stretched on a bed, light painting his figure golden, highlighting his cock, making her itch and squirm. Cullen between her thighs, lapping eagerly. Cullen inside her, filling her to the brim with heat. She felt hands ghosting over her body, her nipples and cunt throbbing to sensation she had never experienced. She couldn’t bring herself to care now, whether it was her body or Mariels that had felt this, only cared that it felt so good, so right to feel him moving in her. She moved in the bed, leathers falling open as she caressed down her body, fingers lightly pinching, rubbing, circling, plunging until she peaked, the Cullen in her mind roaring along with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acacia Blossoms - Chaste love, concealed love x


	14. Trading Blows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mariel and the Inquisitor train. Cullen greatly disapproves.

Mariel began to feel somewhat herself again. Her hair was neat, the grime washed away, a clean robe acquired. More than simple cleanliness, her soul felt lighter; that someone actually cared enough to take the time to help. It had seemed an age since she’d had the benefit of a friend. 

In the days following Dorians abrupt bath, she had busied herself in the tower, working herself hard, not wanting to return to the half life she’d been living. She was...content, if one could forget the worries all around. A little bird had told her scouts were on route to the Emerald Graves, and that she was to train with the Inquisitor herself. She wasn’t a stupid woman, and she knew the Inquisitors injuries had been great, but she couldn’t shake the feeling this was all some ploy for Valaria to punish her for having been with the Commander…

The bout was supposed to be low key, kept away from the masses. Someone should have really locked Varric in the dungeon until it was over. It seemed half the Keep had turned out for the occasion. Mariel approached the dirt ring with growing trepidation. The Inquisitor was already there, a certain stiffness of bearing also betraying her feeling towards the crowd. The lithe elf wore light leathers, no shoes or helm. Her twin daggers were already loose and gleaming in the sunlight, runes sparkling. No blunt practice weapons in sight. Mariel felt a slight pull of magic, not her rings...there! Propped against the fence she saw a staff; standard apprentice affair, no offensive runes, only the barest pulse of magic leaking from the tip. Weak. Fear sat low in her belly. She would be lucky to master a child with such a tool, nevermind one of the most feared fighters in Thedas! 

Valaria watched the mage close the distance, saw her hesitate when she spotted the staff. No doubt she’d wanted the rings. Maybe later...if Cullen wasn’t watching. Mariel was wearing standard robes, high collared and full, but there were slits from ground to hip to aid movement. She could feel power reaching for her, stronger than most mages she’d fought before. Blessed Mother, if this was her in a weakened state she wouldn’t like to face her at full strength! She began to tap her daggers, sliding the edges against one another; the tactic often distracted an opponent, put them on edge, opened them up to make mistakes. She had a feeling she would need every edge she could muster. It just wouldn’t do for the troops to see her defeated.

Cullen had agreed to referee the bout; looking at the two, he wished he was far away, that Dorian had never suggested this insanity. At best, the fight would be short, both combatants tiring quickly. Somehow, knowing both women as he did, he doubted that either would stop unless they were forced to. Calling them to arms, he stood between them, watched as breathing sped up, hands gripped weapons tighter, eyes narrowed. 

“Right ladies, half strength if you please. This is a training bout after all. First fighter to reach five strikes is the victor.” 

His piece said, he fled the circle, coming to rest beside Dorian, who was halfway through placing his bet with Varric. 

“Mariel to win, first strike to the Inquisitor. What odds will you give me on that?”

“50-1 Sparkler, Mariel doesn’t have a chance. You see that look there? That’s our dear Inquisitors bear killing face. You ever see them win?” Pocketing Dorians gold, he turned to Cullen, head cocked as he riled him 

“What about you Curly? You betting? I’ll give you 10-1 that the Inquisitor breaks the staff…”

Cullen choked. “Maker take you Varric, no!”

The women were circling, gracefully, as they took each others measure. The Inquisitor was totally silent, feet drifting through the sand with a whisper, daggers held ready. Mariel moved cautiously, never having trained on the surface, she was worried about her footing. The borrowed staff was vibrating slightly, it had more power than she’d thought, the small crystal at the tip glinting with growing light. The crowd held its breath as they continued to move, until with a woosh, the Inquisitor lept high, both daggers reversed as she descended. Mariel twisted, shocked by the sudden violence and athleticism. A thin line scored through her sleeve, a few drops of blood testament to how close the elf had come to slicing off her arm. 

Valaria backed away, considering. The mage had speed. She’d not been holding back with her attack, despite the wishes of the Commander. She wanted a full strength fight, wanted to make sure she hadn’t lost her skills. After all, healing magics were common she thought dismissively. Any damage could surely be put right as quick as a thought. 

Mariel had a barrier up now, the realisation her opponent was striking with intent to harm making the blood sing in her ears. With a rush, she brought fire to bear, sending fireballs and waves of flame around the ring. The Inquisitor was forced to use all her tricks to dodge the attacks, again she closed the distance, dropping into stealth as she came into range. Mariel closed her eyes, and felt with her power. A moment later, her staff flicked out, catching Valaria in the head as she snuck up on her right. Both women were now breathing heavily, the fight taking more out of them than they would admit. Another minute of wary circling ensued, each now fully appreciative of the skills of the other, before they squared off to trade blows. None ever landed. Bodies danced in time to the music of combat, daggers and staff coming within a hairsbreadth of doing serious damage. The crowd roared appreciatively, but the inner circle were tense, aware that this was not for show, and that the force being employed was far greater than necessary for a training match. 

Cullen wanted to leap in, stop them before further injuries occurred, but the dance was so fast he doubted if he would be able to intervene without one or the other taking advantage of the distraction. As he watched, he saw Valarias eyes tighten, and Maker, he knew that look. It did not bode well. A crack and plume of smoke heralded the arrival of a grenade, strictly forbidden in the training ring. Searing fire leapt up, wreathing Mariel in white hot flames. A hasty ice barrier took most of the damage but she was effectively immobilised as the Inquisitor stalked forward to take the final blow. 

A commotion from the back of the crowd had him turning, speechless he watched as a silver blur hurtled through the massed soldiers and materialized in Mariels hands. The Chakrams! A green light seeped out of the engravings, bathing her in light. As she stood, he saw the look in her eyes and knew he needed to stop this, now. He started forwards, to be caught by Dorian. 

“About time the playing field was evened out, don’t you think Commander?”

Eyes wide, he watched as Mariel stood tall, the rings crossed below her hips, and with a shout, cast them, crackling with energy, straight at the Inquisitor…

**************************

It was some time later that Valaria awoke. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. The room was dim, apart from the beam of sunlight shining from the hole in the roof. 

“Why am I in the Commanders tower?” She moved to sit up, and didn’t quite make it. Slumping back, she recalled then the final attack Mariel had inflicted on her. Lightning had always been her least favorite element, especially when it was directed at her. Dread Wolf, the woman was powerful! She’d been caught in a cage of electricity, the rings weaving strand after strand around her, through her, until she was locked in her body, shuddering and useless. Dimly she had watched Cullen leap into the ring, the Silence on his lips as he dissipated the mana pooling around Mariel. With both of them locked, he’d roared at the soldiers to disperse, and Dorian came to care for Mariel. While Cullen, he’d picked her up like a doll, and carried her away...suddenly, she thought of snow, of Haven. How had she forgotten? Her body fitted into his arms perfectly, her head turned into the collar of his cape, smelling the earthy scent of him, all male and musk, it was all around her, here in his domain…

“How are you feeling?” The care behind the question was almost buried by anger, he was mad, she’d deliberately flouted the rules, fought to win by any measure, all because of what? Jelousy? It was a lame excuse and she knew it. Neither by word or deed had her Commander shown anything other than professionalism towards his former lover, or towards her. 

“I am well, Commander. And...and I am sorry. That was unworthy of me.” Her voice was small. Weak. She hated feeling like this, like a child that had erred in the company of adults who had power over her future. 

Cullen passed a hand over his eyes. “Maker Valaria, why were you trying to kill her? She -” 

“Kill her?” She didn’t miss the use of her name, but unlike before, it didn’t make her heart leap. 

“That’s certainly what it looked like to me. Are you really so against her? She was a great help to the healers you know, when you -”

“She had you.” The words slipped out, without thought, without care for how it sounded. The burning need she’d lived with wouldn’t allow any other course of action. Silence, heavy and astounding weighed between them and she fled, like the coward she was, running away from his golden eyes, not seeing the softness there.

********************

Dorian dragged her to her room, and forced a lyrium potion down her throat as he urged her to heal her burns, and the cut on her arm. Luckily, there was nothing serious. 

“Well amiculus, you’ve just made me a great deal of coin, so I suppose I can overlook that display…”

Mariel looked up, her skin pink and shiny as it healed. “I’ve no idea how that happened! They just...came. I always knew there were more enchantments in them than I could see, but this, it’s like they were listening!” She threw a glance at the sideboard, where her Chakrams lay, quintessent now, but there was a brooding quality in the air that she didn’t like. Never mind that she had only been defending herself, killing the Inquisitor would have been a good way to earn a short step off the gallows. At least no one had removed them yet, although she supposed she would have to speak to Cullen about it, preferably when the Inquisitor was not in attendance. 

As if the thought had summoned him, there was a cough at the door. Dorian took one look at the blond and retreated, hands up. She sighed, unable to stop her hands shaking. All she’d done since her arrival was make trouble it seemed, not that she could help it, things just seemed to fall like this around her. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was gentle, understanding. Confused, she shook her head, inviting him to speak with a quirk of her head. He’d grown adept at reading her in Kirkwall, and it seems he hadn’t lost the ability. 

“Valaria is...discomforted by our past association, it seems. I would like you two to be friends, but she is under so much pressure, I don’t know if it can work out.” 

A look was all he needed to continue “I’ve seen how she looks at me, I know she wants me, but Maker, I cannot, she is so far above me, I’m not worthy -” 

“Cullen, go to her, please. You are one of the best men I know, despite everything. She’s hurting, confused. She needs you, and I don’t doubt you need her.”

“I’ll...consider it. Thank you Mariel. You’re free to keep your weapons. Maker knows they’re probably safer with you than zooming around the place.”

Mariel waved him away, weariness setting in now her healing was complete and she longed to drift off into the fade. 

“And Mariel, I’m sorry...about Kirkwall.”

***********************************

**Author's Note:**

> I will update this as life allows, as quickly as I can as this is hovering in my brain to the point where I think about it at work when I should be actually working :)  
> For those who love the smut, it will come, don't worry, lots of lovely plotty smut will be around, possibly starting in the next chapter!  
> Any suggestions or comments on my style are greatly appreciated, this is the first time since high school that I've actually written anything so I know my dialogue is a little off with the quotation marks!  
> x


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